Wild Pitch
by bornonhalloween
Summary: Superstar Emmett ("Big Mac") McCarty is a genius on the mound, but fame forces his true desires deep into the shadows. When a certain fan with a knack for numbers catches Emmett's attention, life gets a little bit wild. This NON-drabble story is a prequel to "Benched." M/M Emmett POV. Rated M for major league Edward/Emmett loving.
1. Chapter 1

**Wild Pitch  
**A prequel to _Benched_

_Notes:__The _**ɸ **_symbol is meant to stand in for the common "at" Twitter symbol , which is not recognized by fanfiction-dot-net. ***double eye roll***  
__I'd recommend reading "Benched" first if you're new to the saga. **Enjoy! **_

* * *

**XXX CHAPTER 1 XXX**

Badass Major League pitcher Emmett McCarty was grouchy as hell, and he was doing a lousy job pretending not to be. But then, he'd never been great at forcing himself to feel something he didn't. He'd pitched his heart out tonight, seven flawless innings, well on his way to the elusive perfect game when the shit call snatched away his chance to join the greats.

_You're young; you'll have another chance. Your team swept the series three-zip against the White Sox, and the Mariners are in first place. _Yeah, none of that was helping. Still pissed.

All around him, his teammates laughed and celebrated and enjoyed their victory like normal people while Emmett sat there, still as stone. The charm of the team's favorite hangout was missing for him tonight, sucked up by a heavy gloom that made him feel as if the walls were closing in on him. Clutching his Redhook with a grip so tight he'd probably cramp up later, Emmett watched absently as a single bead of sweat rolled down the neck of the bottle and dripped onto the tip of his thumb.

"Hey, you okay?"

Emmett turned his head toward the girl wedged in under his outstretched arm. "Hmm? Yeah, fine."

Tammy chuffed. "Liar."

Despite himself, Emmett grinned. "Okay, I'm pissed."

"Don't blame you. Seaver even admitted he bobbled that ball. Everyone knows it was an error. Stupid scorer."

"Stupid scorer." Emmett sighed.

"You had that perfect game, Em."

"Numbers aren't everything," he said, knowing damn well Tammy would call him out again.

"They're the only thing." She delivered her line with a gentle nudge to the ribs and managed to pull a smile out of him. "Thank God. You were starting to scare me."

Emmett shook his head and brought the beer to his lips. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he told her.

Tammy burst out laughing. "Um, I don't think that's the reason."

Leaning in as if to kiss her, Emmett dragged his nose along her cheek and delivered an overly breathy "shhh" before nipping at her ear.

"God, you're a horrible tease," she whispered back.

Emmett pulled away and searched his friend's face before concluding she was okay. "You know I love you, right?"

Tammy gave him a brave smile, yet he couldn't help but read the tinge of pain behind her "Sure."

"Hey, Mac!" yelled Fuller from across the table. The Mariners' best closer, a boisterous rookie with a nasty curveball, waved his phone in the air. "You seen Twitter lately?"

Emmett scowled. "Does April third count?"

Social media was a double-edged sword. Did he read what the sports writers said about him? Sure. Their so-called insights were wildly entertaining. Did he love being adored by the fans? Who wouldn't? Without popularity, there were no endorsements. Had he Googled himself on more than one occasion? Hell, yes—anyone who said he didn't was a damn liar. Bottom line? Fame didn't bother Emmett, but it wasn't what drove him either. Emmett McCarty cared about being a great pitcher. And greatness wasn't measured by anything but stats. Pure and simple. Objective.

Emmett's general philosophy was to assume that everything written about him was good, and he was happy to ignore any evidence to the contrary. Besides, there was nothing to gain from encouraging intrusion into his private life. He had no secrets in his baseball life, but the kind of pitching Emmett did far from the baseball diamond . . . that was nobody's business. So, when Fuller bounced around the table, leading with his cellphone, a chill went down Emmett's spine.

"You have to see this. You've got yourself a crusader. Oh my god, seriously?" Fuller chuckled. "Look at the screen name!"

"Give me that!" Emmett grabbed the phone and read the tweet from ɸ69fanatic: **ɸ****bigmac69 Mariners Error by Seaver 2nite - ERA 2.53 #MacPerfect**

"Holy shit!" Tammy said, peering at the screen. "He's recalculated your ERA."

Passing the phone back to his teammate, Emmett muttered, "Wonderful."

"Jesus Effin' Christ! Look how many retweets and favorites there are," Tammy added.

"Come on, Tam. You know as well as I do that a zealous fan won't change the official records."

Tammy leveled Emmett with one of her no-bullshit glares. "That's not exactly the point."

"You should at least favorite the tweet," shortstop Brad Tomlinson said, pulling out his phone. "We all should."

"Are you sure we should encourage this guy?"

". . . Hashtag MacPerfect," Tomlinson recited while typing.

Emmett shook his head as, one by one, each of his teammates followed Tomlinson's example. Seaver hopped on the bandwagon with the rest of them, offering Emmett a salute while pulling out his phone. "Fine. I know who I'm taking down to the station with me when I need to file a restraining order."

"Remember when you told me to let you know when your head started to get too big for your cap?" Tammy's lips curled into a smirk. "Consider this your official notice."

"Oh, is that right? I'm an egomaniac because I have my first stalker?"

"No, you're an egomaniac because you think crunching a few numbers and sending one little tweet is stalking."

There were exactly three people in this world who had the balls to tell Emmett like it was—the woman who had birthed him, his brother-in-law Jasper, and Tammy. Over the years, Tammy had mastered the art of ego surgery, but once in a while, even her sharply-honed scalpel nicked a little too close to his pulsating vulnerability for Emmett's liking. "You do realize recalculating a person's ERA is not something you do in one night. That's a season's worth of stats he has lying around." _Yeah, that was lame._

"A, it's the middle of May, and you've pitched eight times."

"Nine." He could hardly keep a straight face now.

"I thought we agreed to expunge that spectacular start in Oakland from our memories."

"Hey, it's not my fault I got the flu."

Tammy smirked and shook her head. "And B, they have these things called spreadsheets now. You may have heard about them on the worldwide web?"

"C'mon, Tam, he's tracking my stats, wearing my jersey, calling himself '69fanatic.' That isn't just a wee bit creepy?"

"Maybe he _really_ likes oral sex. Ever think of _that_?" She crossed her arms with a now-I've-gotcha finality.

Emmett gave her a long stare, then rubbed his hand along the scruff below his mouth. "You know," he said, leaning in so only Tammy could hear him, "I think my _beard_ is getting a little coarse. Maybe it's time for a shave."

Not missing a beat, Tammy nodded. "I think that's a great idea. That way you'll be all clean and smooth and _exposed_ at the Foundation Gala in two weeks."

_Fuck! _She had him by the short hairs, and they both knew it. "On second thought," he said, "I'm pretty attached to my facial hair."

"As it, I'm sure, is attached to you." Tammy tugged playfully at a couple of Emmett's whiskers. "Yep, they're stuck."

"Ouch!" Emmett chuckled and sucked down the rest of his beer, counting his lucky stars to have a friend like Tammy. There was no denying the two of them truly were a picture-perfect couple—tall, dimpled, green-eyed muscle-bound pitcher and brown-haired girl-next-door with a killer smile and soft hazel eyes that spoke volumes whether she was wearing contacts or her sexy turquoise frames. Emmett would have felt guilty using his friend as a smokescreen if not for the fact that she honestly loved being on his arm. They were the very definition of symbiosis. Tammy got to run with the big dogs, and Emmett had the perfect date for local events and an excuse not to sniff out new women at every away game. And honestly, she really was his best friend.

Of course, there was "The Pact": If, at any time, for any reason, Tammy wished to end their arrangement, Emmett would instantly release her from their fake relationship, no hard feelings and no questions asked. At some point, he figured—hell, he _hoped_—she'd meet someone she liked better, someone who could follow through when the spotlight turned away, someone who could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

_You're a coward. _The truth chafed worse than jock itch at the height of the summer, but Emmett was a pro at pushing it away. What he couldn't push away was the urge to check out his statistical gladiator, this self-proclaimed fan of his. Tammy didn't say a word as Emmett whipped out his phone, but she couldn't quite bite back her smile in time.

"Shush, you," he said, failing miserably at sounding stern as the retweets multiplied like sex-starved bunnies right before his eyes. "Ho-lee shit."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And away we go! I'm planning to post weekly so I can stay way ahead of you guys!

I have several people to thank for their help with this one. First, my friend **Tammy**, an enthusiastic reader of _Benched_ whose consistently entertaining comments about wanting Emmett for herself (and exactly how!) got me thinking maybe she should have a role in this one. Thanks for being a good sport, Tammy! (See? You never know what might happen when you leave interesting reviews!) My back office team on _Benched_ agreed to renew their contracts, and I am ever so grateful to two of my favorite reader/writers, **Ladyeire **and** Shadow Masen**, for their eagle eyes and enthusiasm for the story. I brought in the birthday girl, whose son's tee-ball stories got the whole thing started, the lovely and talented **Shell Taylor**, who will ensure that these two suffer a bit more than I would have done if left to my own devices. *grins* And special guest star baseball (and boys) consultant, **Jayme Tyzane**, who always offers her know-how with a generous dose of cheerleading. I'd be nowhere good without my sweet, wonderful gift, **Chayasara**, editor plus plus plus. I'll thank my hubby here too, for helping me with some of the baseball things while Jayme was off having a life, but he doesn't always read my boy stories. *Hi, honey!*

It truly does take a team, especially when writing about a topic one knows so little about. How did I get myself into this again? OH! I remember now. It's because I LOVE YOU GUYS. MWAH! **xxx ~BOH**


	2. Chapter 2

**XXX CHAPTER 2 XXX**

Alone in his waterfront penthouse, Emmett brushed his teeth, stripped down to his boxers, sank into his cozy recliner, and turned on the TV for a distraction. Nothing on demand captured his interest, and ESPN only made him edgier. "Might've," "could've," and "one that got away" were hard enough, but when Chris Singleton named the elephant in the room, "Does McCarty have what it takes to get past this?" Emmett groaned and shut it off.

When he'd resisted as long as he possibly could, Emmett left the comfort of his leather armchair with a defeated sigh and paced across the spacious living room to his computer. He dropped his weary bones into the desk chair and wiggled the mouse to revive the screen. _You know this is bad for you, _he warned himself even as he typed in his password: bigMacattack69.

No longer able to pretend he didn't care, Emmett went straight to his Twitter feed. _943 retweets and 2156 favorites of the MacPerfect tweet! _He scrolled through screen after screen back to the original tweet, expecting to see the usual _look-at-me-I-went-viral_ grandstanding and follow-up tweets, but there was none of that. Curious about this ɸ69fanatic, Emmett clicked on the account.

Now that the profile picture was bigger than the fingernail-sliver on his phone, three things struck Emmett: first, his fan was definitely male; second, the guy's shoulders most definitely knew how to hold up a jersey—Emmett's jersey in particular; and third, the picture was taken from the back, raising all kinds of questions, not the least of which was, _What the hell does this guy look like?_

Something else seemed unusual. Even though his fan had opened his Twitter account in 2009, he had only a handful of tweets. A quiet sort, not some loudmouth airbag with an opinion on every play. Details were piling up in the "favorable" column. Emmett was definitely interested.

_Okay, who are these 158 people you're following_? The profiles opened, filling Emmett's screen, and as he scrolled through the names of other MLB players, even teammates of his, Emmett realized he was starting to feel possessive, if not downright jealous. Loads of spectators wear a player's jersey on game day; even a cocky son of a bitch like McCarty didn't get too puffed up over that. But this faceless hero wearing Emmett's number on his back and touting Emmett's number in his screen name was causing in him a powerful, puzzling response that took the pitcher quite by surprise: _mine_.

The final piece of the stalking puzzle wasn't much of a leap at that point, but Emmett still felt a twinge of guilt clicking on 69fanatic's 1875 followers. A fairly homogeneous group: fans of the game, fans of the Mariners, a few self-proclaimed stats geeks . . . nothing that shed any new light on who this guy was.

_Suck it up, Mac. You want to solve the mystery of 69fanatic? You're gonna have to put some skin in this game._

Staring at the screen as if it might explode, Emmett took a deep breath and hit the "follow" button, bringing his total to 47; he didn't make a habit of it. Emmett wasn't one to conduct private business on the public airwaves, not with the skeleton gracing his closet. Still, this guy deserved some kind of acknowledgment, right?

_Keep it professional, and assume anything you write or say will be repeated publicly. _Solid advice from the back office, advice that had served him well in his four years with the team. Dipping his toe into dangerous waters, Emmett favorited and retweeted to his 256,000 followers, adding:** Thx for your support. Means the world. Not perfect but always striving.**

There. Everyone who followed either of them would see it, and Emmett had thanked his fan while issuing him a new test, admittedly one that would be challenging for anyone to pass. Would 69fanatic use the coveted "follow" to climb the social media ladder? As he hit the retweet button, Emmett realized he had already begun to hope and believe this fan would do the right thing.

_Please don't turn out to be a douche, man. _Emmett had certainly experienced his fair share of disappointments in humankind, but not lately. When you expect nothing and give nothing away, you cannot be let down. Or exposed. Loneliness seemed a small price to pay. Emmett's bed was empty, but it was a far sight more comfortable than the Hotel No-tells he'd slept in on his way up the ladder. So, no, he wasn't about to put his destiny in anyone's hands but his own.

Emmett chuckled out loud at the irony. "Fucking Seaver," he said with a huff.

The screen jumped to life with favorites and retweets of Emmett's new post. "Come on, come on, where are you, my friend?" Just when Emmett was beginning to wonder if it was past the guy's bedtime, a message box popped up.

**Direct Message 69fanatic Thx for the follow. I've got your back.**

A grin stretched across Emmett's face. A private message. Zero posturing. Eager to continue the dialogue, he messaged back: **Guess we're even since my name's on yours.**

No sooner had he clicked "send message" than Emmett was overcome with regret. _Too much too soon? What the hell am I doing?_

ɸ69fanatic's message came seconds later: **I only wear your jersey during baseball season.**

A series of highly inappropriate responses ran through his mind, and Emmett sat on his hands while the urge passed to ask whether that included sleeping. Settling for an innocuous, **Me too**, Emmett forced himself to take a leisurely stroll to the kitchen. With slow, disciplined motions, he pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice water, and sipped at it until he reached the bottom before returning to his desk. Though he tried like hell to saunter back, there was a definite spring to his step as he crossed the hardwood floor. Once he saw the message on the screen, Emmett read it without bothering to sit down.

**Full disclosure- that's spring training thru the World Series.**

_Fuck waiting! _Leaning over the back of his chair, he attacked the keyboard: **Hope you wash it occasionally.**

**Once a month whether it needs it or not.**

Emmett laughed, then stopped short. He had to be joking, right? Hmm, how to do this delicately . . . He hovered over the keys, searching for the right tone, when another message popped up.

**Kidding. I'm very clean. Not OCD or anything. **

"Good to know. Annnnnd I'm talking to myself now."

But apparently, the guy on the other end of his Twitter account was suffering too from a fairly serious case of blurtitis. **Sorry. I have no idea what I'm saying. It's a bit intimidating actually talking to you.**

If only this guy had a clue how hard this was for Emmett, talking with someone outside of his tightly-drawn circle of family and teammates.

**You're fine. I really just wanted to say thanks. Tonight sucked and this helped.**

**Any time. Really nice chatting. My dad's gonna flip!**

_His dad? Are we talking hot DILF or nursing home resident? Crap, how old _is _this guy anyway? _Emmett searched the picture again, but there was frustratingly little to see. The thought crossed his mind—and he wasn't exactly sure why—that he hoped his fan was late-twenty-something, or at least legal, but he had no idea how to ask without sounding weird. If he could narrow down the father's age range, at least he'd have some clue. Emmett typed out an innocuous but hopefully leading, **Careful…wouldn't want anyone getting hurt! **He added then erased, **Broken hips can be lethal**, before sending.

**No worries- I'll wait till he's sitting down.**

No help whatsoever. Was the guy being deliberately shady? It seemed to Emmett they'd reached the point in the conversation where neither one quite knew how to end it but both sensed it was time. Less is more—except at contract time, of course—so Emmett started laying tracks to say good night.

**Good plan. Ok, better get my beauty sleep. **

Waiting, waiting . . . Waiting . . . _Shit, has he already signed off? This is awkward._ Maybe close out the conversation just in case . . . **You have yourself a great night.**

**You too. And don't worry too much about the beauty sleep. I think you're good there.**

Huh, that was . . . _curious_.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Your reception for this story has overwhelmed me. M/M is always a smaller audience, and that never bothers me, but it sure is lovely to know you guys are out there enjoying this. Thank you for your lovely notes and reviews.

Happy Good Friday and Easter to those of you celebrating this weekend. And to my fellow members of the Tribe (and I don't mean the Cleveland Indians) Chag Sameach and may all your matzoh balls be light (unless you like them heavy like my Papa did). May you all find your way out of the narrow places and navigate your way to the land flowing with milk and honey.

**XXX ~BOH**


	3. Chapter 3

**XXX CHAPTER 3 XXX**

The next morning brought Emmett the new challenge of sneaking a peek at his Twitter feed while attempting to convince himself he really didn't care whether "69er" (as he'd come to think of his fanboy) had tweeted something new or messaged him again. This was no small feat, but fortunately, Emmett was a professional.

Throwing on shorts and a t-shirt, he padded into the kitchen and prepared his standard baseball-season breakfast, a kale-banana smoothie with the trainer-recommended potions and powders and whatever berries happened to be lying around. The drink was tasty enough, and he liked that he didn't have to think about what to make. There was no doubt Emmett's workouts had been more productive since he'd started on this green shake kick; his pitching coach was particularly pleased with the improved muscle tone in his upper body, but Emmett had made sure not to neglect his legs and ass at the gym, a strategy that had clearly paid off—not that there was anyone around who much cared about Emmett's firm ass.

Calm, cool, and outwardly collected, Emmett set his shake on the desk and jiggled the mouse. Ignoring the Twitter tab, he checked the _Seattle Times_ headlines first, largely to prove to himself that he could. The byline hit him like a fastball to the nose: **_The fans have spoken:_**** #MacPerfect****_._**

Emmett skimmed the rehash of the glorious innings leading up to the bad call; he could have recast the game from memory, and the churning of strikeouts and pop flies and ground outs offered him zero comfort. Halfway down the page, he found the first mention of 69fanatic, and Emmett held his breath and repeated his mantra from last night: _Please don't turn out to be a douche._

The original tweet was quoted, along with some of the more colorful retweets, including several from Emmett's teammates. The harsher comments toward the official scorer were tactfully absent from the article, a mercy for which Emmett was immensely grateful. Nothing good ever came from antagonizing the officials. He wasn't holding out for a tearful apology.

Traffic stats were provided—retweets and favorites had soared overnight, as expected—but most impressively, 69er's fan base had multiplied from double digits pre-tweet to over 12K. Ah, a following, the holy grail of social media. How much of their private conversation would Emmett's new chat partner share to gain celebrity status? Emmett groaned into his breakfast shake as he recalled the quirky comments that would certainly sound even weirder taken out of context, everything from laundry to beauty sleep. Christ, why had Emmett broken his own rules and given in to his stupid urge to chat with this stranger? He forced his eyes to the screen.

* * *

_The man known to the world of Twitter as "69fanatic" spoke with _The Times_ this morning about the hashtag that circled the globe, fueling conversations about the unfortunate call that cost Mariners pitcher Emmett McCarty his chance to enter the record books for a perfect game last night. _

_When asked why he's a longtime fan of McCarty, 69fanatic answered, "I've always admired Emmett's focus and work ethic. He's out there grinding as much as the coaches will let him, working on his weaknesses as much as his strengths. Two years ago, he was a knuckleballer; today, because of the sweat equity he's put in, Emmett McCarty owns the league's most dangerous fastball. His teammates talk about what a role model he is for the other guys on the team both on and off the field. Of course, I don't know what goes on in the locker room, but from everything I've heard, Emmett McCarty is a true leader and a personal inspiration."_

_Clearly, 69fanatic lives up to his screen name. So, how did he feel when McCarty retweeted his now-famous post? "I was incredibly honored he took the time to thank me. I'm sure he had plenty of other things on his mind last night."_

_69fanatic, who requested to remain anonymous, seemed genuinely surprised his hashtag had gone viral but reportedly was "quite pleased that other fans—as well as scores of other players including Seaver—spoke up in McCarty's defense." _

_What was 69fanatic's response when he learned that McDonald's is considering purchasing the rights to the hashtag for a new ad campaign for the Big Mac? "I'm actually more of a Proud Whopper guy, but as long as McDonald's leaves the 'a' in MacPerfect, it's fine by me."_

* * *

"Well, shit! No mention of our chat, and this guy makes me sound like a saint!" Emmett shook his head at his crazy self-talking and wondered whether his fanboy belonged in a straitjacket or beside him on the damn pedestal he'd erected for Emmett. And what the hell was that comment about the gay pride Whopper? _Could this guy be into boys, and could he possibly have an inkling about me, or does he just like mayonnaise more than special sauce?_ A treacherous thrill tore through him, and he quickly closed the tab as if the internet police were about to bust down his door and drag him out of the closet.

Once he was able to slow his heartrate, Emmett checked his texts. _Call me_, from his agent; _We're so proud of you, _from Mom and Dad; _That was fucked up, _from his sister Alice's husband; and _Love you,_ from Tammy.

Emmett stared down the Twitter tab while he guzzled the rest of his smoothie and finally decided the kale shake had earned him a visit to the Land of Swelled Heads. He'd already read the stats, so the sheer volume of activity didn't surprise him. Quantity wasn't what he was after anyway.

After five minutes of scrolling, Emmett dropped the pretense that he wasn't searching for his 69er. This stranger had knocked quietly on the tightly sealed door guarding the hidden chambers of Emmett's heart. The man's approval meant something to him, and the pride Emmett had experienced while reading the article was now evaporating as he scrolled and scrolled and found nothing further from his fan. Clicking on 69er's profile confirmed what Emmett had already suspected: nothing since the original post. No replies, no new tweets, not even a "Look, Ma!" link to the article in the_ Times_. The guy was most definitely not an opportunistic jerk. He also, apparently, was not a pest, Emmett observed with clear disappointment as he found his message box empty.

_Isn't this what you wanted? _

Emmett had no opportunity to earn another tweet on the pitcher's mound for another five games, and if the waiting didn't drive him crazy, the added pressure was likely to fuck with his head just enough to be a problem. That was a risk he couldn't take.

Opening their chat box from the previous night, he gave himself a mental high-five for not responding to the 69er's comment about Emmett's beauty. Then again, maybe Emmett shouldn't have left that indelicately laid egg sitting there all night to weigh on the guy and make him worry he'd gone and overshared. Maybe 69fanatic had barricaded himself inside the nearest cave for the duration.

_I have to let him off the hook. It's the decent thing to do._

In Emmett's kale-coated brain, all neuron paths led to the same solution: _your turn to send the next message._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Looks like Edward isn't going to turn out to be a douche! Thanks for the love for these boys.  
**XXX ~BOH**


	4. Chapter 4

**XXX CHAPTER 4 XXX**

Pushing away the post-first-date anxieties about appearing too eager, Emmett stared at the message box and struggled for something pithy to say. _Best to move off the topics of beauty and sleep and start fresh_, he decided.

**I hear Ronald McDonald is inconsolable this morning.**

Emmett sent the message and distracted himself by scrolling half-heartedly through the retweets. This morning's batch were less visceral and more fact-based than the knee-jerk emotional reflexes of last night. Galarraga's "28-out perfect game" was invoked all over the place, and many fans were calling for an apology from last night's scorer, similar to the tearful one Joyce had issued after his mistake in 2010. McCarty was praised for "taking it like the pro we know him to be." Seaver expressed his remorse and received an outpouring of support. Impassioned pleas were made to the commissioner for an exception to be made or at least for an asterisk in the record books. More clever hashtags appeared, their creators grasping for fifteen minutes in the sun, but Emmett wasn't interested in anyone new. He liked what was behind door number one.

A bubble popped open on his message bar, and grinning like an idiot, Emmett slid the mouse to the top of his screen and clicked open the message.

**In other news, the Burger King was captured on video performing backflips on Safeco Field.**

Emmett fired back quickly. No use playing hard to get when the guy was already wearing his number, right? **Hope he hadn't just eaten!**

**A sentiment shared by your groundskeeper, I'm sure.**

**No doubt. **Taking advantage of the opening—slim though it was—Emmett pressed into more intimate territory. **Speaking of day jobs, what do you do when you're not creating problems for the commish?**

**Hey! I'm not the one who made that terrible call!**

Hmm, prickly about sharing the personal stuff? Emmett left a noncommittal, **True. **If the guy didn't oblige with an answer, Emmett would let it slide . . . though, damn, was he curious now!

**Actually, my day job IS creating problems – for math students.**

A math teacher. That explained the fascination with Emmett's stats. **No shit? What grade?**

**I'm certified for all levels but about to start teaching 6****th**** grade at a private school in Sept.**

Hmm, could it be? **Oh yeah? Which one?**

**Seven Hills. You know it?**

Holy shit! This was too damn good to be true. **My sister's kid is enrolled in next year's kindergarten class. Guess he won't have you quite yet.**

**Wow. Small world! Is he a prodigy by any chance?**

Emmett chuckled. **A baseball prodigy maybe! He can count to 100 but gets a little fuzzy after that. **

**100's solid for pre-K. You grooming him to be the next Big Mac?**

**Not exactly. He's more of a batter at this point. First base, maybe shortstop. But it's still early.**

**You knew at a pretty early age.**

Ah yes, Emmett was going to have to keep in mind that his backstory was an open book, the one glaring exception being his sexual orientation. Clearly, this 69er had soaked up all the human interest stories out there—including the piece about the talent scout who drove 140 miles to Forks to take a look at the amazing arm of the third-grade pitcher nicknamed "Mighty Mac."

**Yep.**

Awkward silence. The urge to learn more about his mystery fan was a powerful one, but even stronger was Emmett's desire not to scare him away. What Emmett had found here was no foul-mouthed, fly-by-night, beer-saturated, fair-weather fan, whose superficial interest in baseball ended when his ass left the stadium seat. No, this man was thoughtful, smart, and devoted to the game from "pitchers and catchers first workout" to the last out of the Series.

**Shame you're not available. I think the Mariners have a job for you in their PR dept. You handled that interview like a pro. **Flattery was not Emmett's forte; he was no more comfortable doling out compliments than he was receiving them, but this guy seemed worth the effort.

**I wouldn't be any good at that. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes type.**

**Dude, you rocked it! Seriously. I think you made me blush!**

**You're easy!**

**Um…excuse me? **Christ, he was blushing for real now and couldn't imagine his friend wasn't doing the same.

**I meant it's easy for me to spew positive things about you. **

Emmett was feeling a bit warm. Was the A/C broken or was that an honest to goodness heat coming over him? He sure as shit wasn't about to leave his chair now to find out. **Don't believe everything you read.**

**Don't worry- I'm a mathematician, remember? I'm ruled by logic and proof.**

Why on earth did Emmett find that the hottest thing he'd ever heard? This guy was pulling him into dangerous terrain, making him want to get reckless. Or maybe it was all that kale piling up in his system. **You're Mr. Spock then?**

**I might've been compared to the Vulcan once or twice.**

**Always loved Spock. I'm more of a McCoy myself.**

**Hmm. I would've said Kirk.**

**How so? **Emmett felt the grin spreading across his cheeks. The Trek speak was rich, neutral ground.

**McCoy has a tendency to lead with his heart and think later. He'd have made a lousy captain. Kirk is passion tempered with wisdom.**

Definitely getting hot in here.** Thanks, I think?**

**Sorry. Did that sound like I think I know you? I realize that's idiotic.**

**No, not idiotic. I'd love to live up to your version of the captain. **Emmett paused and reread his message three more times before muttering, "Oh, what the hell," and hitting send.

**How do you know you don't?**

**If I told you, you'd have to trash your Twitter profile and start over.**

**That would suck. Never mind.**

There was that dry sense of humor again. Hero worship with a sly twist. Emmett was afraid he could get addicted to this. This_ what? You don't even know the guy's name, dammit! And what the hell did he mean by invoking the gay pride Whopper? _The nagging questions dug their claws in a little deeper, pushing Emmett to press his fan.

**I take it you're a season ticket holder?**

**Yes. Dad's had the seats for 27 years. Been a bit challenging with school but I go with him every chance I get.**

**That's nuts! You might be a bigger fan of the game than I am!**

**You probably don't want to get me started on my love for the game.**

**Actually, I think I might. Believe it or not, it can get to be a grind at times. Don't get me wrong-baseball was always my dream. It's just…**

69er finished Emmett's sentence when he maxed out on characters. **The season is long. Avg # of pitches per game is rising. # of pitching changes per game is rising, slowing down the game. I get it.**

**So tell me, what is it you love about baseball?**

**It would take me a week to list everything.**

**Hmm I have to leave for practice in 4 hours. **_Damn, the idea of talking to him for another four hours does something to me._

**Tell you what. How about if I spread it out for you…keep the inspiration going through the season, a little at a time?**

Through the season? Yes, Emmett liked the sound of that. Very much. Thankful his smile was hidden behind an anonymous screen, Emmett typed, **How so?**

**Daily tweets.**

**That's a tall order. You have four months' worth?**

**Easily. I bet you do too, once you sit down to reflect on it.**

**Yeah, maybe. You sure you're not too optimistic to be Spock?**

**Optimism and logic are not mutually exclusive. Besides, Spock had his human side too, Captain.**

**That he did, Professor.**

**Oh, Professor is it?**

_Here we go. Headfirst. _**I'm at a disadvantage. You know pretty much everything about me. I don't even know your first name.**

Waiting, waiting . . . waiting, waiting.

Awkwardly long pause, more waiting.

_Shit!_

**Edward**.

Emmett leaned back in his chair and stared at the name on his screen. Edward, _Edward_, kind of old-fashioned, just a touch stuffy. No, not stuffy exactly—formal. Edward, the logical, optimistic math teacher. Yeah, that worked. While he was sitting there pondering the name, another message came in.

**Ugh, maybe we should go back to Professor!**

**No, I like Edward. Anyway, who am I to talk? Who the hell names their kid Emmett?**

**Mr. and Mrs. Kelly? **

**The CLOWN? FUCK YOU!**

**Haha. Sorry, couldn't help myself. You don't have a clown phobia, do you?**

**That's a bit personal, isn't it?**

**I was always a bit terrified of the bearded lady myself.**

Emmett sputtered at the image, thinking back to last night's not-so-veiled reference to Tammy. It must have been this semi-flustered state that caused Emmett to type and send the next message without thinking things through.

**Note to self: Don't take Edward to the circus. **

_Fuck, what was that? Did I just invoke some hypothetical date? Jesus! _Emmett sat paralyzed over the keyboard, willing something clever into his fingers to paint right over his little slip. The harder he pressed, the blanker his mind.

It was Edward who saved him from further mortification with his response: **Hell, I'd take the circus any day over the Space Needle!**

**Not a fan of heights?**

**I don't really mind heights as long as I'm viewing them from the ground.**

Emmett twirled his chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows, folded his hands behind his head, and set his gaze on Elliott Bay. Water was the one thing that calmed him, and he'd jumped at the Alki Beach property when his broker told him it had become available. The Needle was visible at the right edge of the farthest window, a hop, skip, and jump from the ballpark. He'd been up there a dozen times as a kid, part of his parents' "Look at all the places you can go" propaganda. Kind of ironic he'd ended up right where he started after all that, but Emmett truly loved Seattle, loved the fans, and loved that his family and Tammy were here to cheer him on and lift him up.

**The view is pretty sweet. On a clear day, you can see the top of Mt. Rainier. There's even a Starbuck's up top!**

**Thanks but no thanks. I like my coffee at low altitudes.**

Emmett had to laugh at the grouchy edge he seemed to have poked to life. **Okay, okay, message received. Don't take Edward to the Space Needle. Damn, we're running out of places here!**

**I'm perfectly happy at sea level. That leaves plenty of options. **

Emmett was sure of it now; they were both skirting around getting together. He still had no idea what this guy's deal was or what he thought Emmett's story might be. Emmett was playing a dangerous game of you-tell-me-first, not even sure he'd reveal himself at all. But he was having a nice time, he realized. This felt good, and it had been so, so long. Worst case, this Edward made a damn fine conversationalist.

_Sure, at 140 characters a pop._

But the thing was, they were adding up. All strung together, there was a story here, and Emmett wanted to hear more of it. He threw down the gauntlet, praying Edward would pick it up. **I'm all ears. What did you have in mind?**

**Really?**

**Yes, really.**

**Are we talking hypothetical here or…?**

_Fuck it. _ **Let's say we're not.**

Waiting, waiting . . .

**WOW. Okay. Well, it's kind of been a dream of mine…ugh, this is embarrassing.**

What did he want? Emmett moved to the edge of his seat and tapped out his response. **C'mon! You can't leave me hanging like that!**

**Okay, fine. This is going to sound really lame, but I've always kind of wondered about the locker room.**

Emmett's jaw dropped. His gaydar antennae burst through his scalp and made a beeline for the ceiling. Something else was rising too, pushing at his boxers and shorts. _Fuck me._ _Now, let's see how bad Edward wants inside that Mariners' locker room._

**Of all the places in Seattle, your number one choice is honestly a smelly locker room? **Emmett's smile could not have been any bigger when he clicked "send."

**I told you it was lame.**

Damn, this guy was downright adorable when he was embarrassed. Emmett was going to need more of that. He'd always been a sucker for a blushing boy, and this one promised to be an easy target. Tammy was right; Emmett was a wicked tease, but he wasn't a jerk, and it was time to let this fish off the hook.

**Not at all. I'll give you the VIP tour after Thursday's game. I'm pitching. **

**Thank you! And I know ;) **

Of course he does. **Hope you won't be disappointed.**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Did you happen to remember a certain math teacher's locker room fetish? Heehee! Let's DO THIS!  
I hope you were smiling as big as Emmett as you read that. I love making my boys and my readers happy!

**XXX ~BOH**


	5. Chapter 5

**XXX CHAPTER 5 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Perfection is elusive but attainable.**

The tweet went out the next morning with no preamble, no explanation, and no announcement that it was for Emmett. An hour later, over eighteen hundred of 69er's followers had retweeted, many using the hashtag **#MacPerfect**. Had Edward intentionally invoked perfection to keep Emmett in the spotlight? Emmett would never know, but he had to admit to a certain gratified tingle at the continuing support for his cause. And if he were honest with himself, a tingle of an entirely different sort for his new . . . friend?

This was odd, to say the least. Emmett was having trouble putting a label on this . . . _thing_ with Edward, and god knows, he'd been trying. Locked inside the very quirky rules of the Twitterverse they'd both voluntarily submitted to, their exchanges were limited not just by character counts, but by the restrictions that were part and parcel to any online interaction. Whereas Edward was privy to whatever was in the public domain about Emmett McCarty, Emmett knew only what Edward shared with him. So far, Emmett had gathered a first name, an occupation, a sense of the man's passion for the game of baseball, and a strong suspicion that he was gay.

And yet, even with the "black boxes" obscuring what normally would be significant details—a face, for example—Emmett couldn't remember the last time he felt so himself. Well, himself but _careful_, because they weren't exactly there yet, but Emmett was fairly certain that a face-to-face meeting with Edward would eventually lead to the spillage of his big, fat secret.

Part of him couldn't fucking wait—the part that scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

Emmett needed to clear his head before favoriting or retweeting or messaging, so he laced up his running shoes, settled the newest Oakley radar pitch shades into place because it made his agent ridiculously happy—and rich—and popped in his earbuds. Alki Beach was a bustling place on a Monday morning. With the ballpark nearby, the beach was a popular spot for the players to run, and the locals were cool about ignoring him beyond a smile or a wave, which he cheerfully returned.

His route was largely the same every day, so concentration was not required. Good thing, since Emmett's mind was a million miles away, lost somewhere in the vast oblivion of cyberspace, replaying their conversations, imagining how the words on the screen might sound in Edward's voice; coloring in a face where the mental canvas was blank; painting a set of blue eyes—no, cat's-eye green would be so much more exciting—a regal nose, and a pair of soft, fleshy lips. _All the better to kiss you with, my dear. _And while he was at it, a nice rosy blush. _Damn._

As the endorphins kicked in, Emmett's musings entered more daring territory—uncovering the treasures hidden beneath the jersey, breathing life into the two-dimensional plane. Sturdy shoulders tapering to a slim waist. A pair of nice arms ending in hands that formed the Vulcan greeting and filled in scorecards at ball games and wrote formulas on whiteboards, hands that groped and touched and pleased. A lean build, solid but not crazy-ripped because—let's be real—Edward was a math teacher after all. Tight, pink nipples that stood up when excited, a smattering of chest hair, and a juicy "V" pointing toward the goods, a feast of shapes and textures to explore.

Emmett didn't allow himself to venture below the belt; that would've created a situation he just didn't need to deal with while running. The kiss and the nipples were trouble enough.

Slowing as he approached the front door of his building, Emmett pulled out his ear buds and bent forward to catch his breath. Stopping the "hard run" playlist on his phone, he realized he couldn't remember a single song, if he'd even heard one at all.

As soon as he entered his condo, Emmett stripped off his soaked clothes. He stepped into the shower and closed his eyes as the hot water pulsed over the layer of sweat coating his skin. He lifted his face to the showerhead and groaned into the oncoming spray, his frustration booming off the tile walls.

Free to explore what he'd deliberately avoided outside, Emmett filled in the brush strokes below the waist. Long legs to match the torso, a tight little bubble butt to provide hours of amusement, and in the front . . . That was like the sun. You couldn't look directly at it without going blind.

That's where the fantasies came in, and Edward's locker room request turned out to be an inspired portal. Sweaty athletes shucking off uniforms, pairing off in twos and threes, warming up with some deep kissing. Soon, Emmett was playing out a full-blown porno scene with his devoted follower walking in on the horny, naked teammates, sprawled across wooden benches, taking turns sucking and fucking each other's brains out.

Emmett lathered the shower gel along his arms and chest, imagining himself at the center of the compulsory group shower scene. Hot, slick, hard bodies tucked in front and behind him, a vertical heap of writhing sex. The newbie watched from a distance, licking his lips and reaching inside his jeans to free his erection, losing himself in the dreams coming to life before his eyes. Emmett smiled and beckoned him into the shower; the beautiful man tossed away his clothes, sank to his knees at Emmett's feet, and swallowed down his cock. Emmett grasped his groupie's hair while thrusting into his perfect, eager mouth. Deep grunts filled the chamber, setting off a tidal wave of orgasms. Emmett dropped back against the cool tiles and came hard and fast.

Weak and woozy from the hot water and the orgasm that barreled through him like a freight train, Emmett stumbled out of the shower and into his bedroom. He pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans and dug to the bottom of the drawer for his soft, gray UCLA t-shirt. The Mariners franchise "strongly suggested" wearing logo items whenever possible, but Emmett was in a Smiley Joe kind of mood. The bright orange bruin face and goofy smile never failed to boost his spirits.

It's not that Emmett was melancholy, but he was edgy as hell and quickly running out of options. A long run almost always unjangled his nerves, and if that didn't work, the jackhammer orgasm definitely should've done the trick. Physical release had failed him, and Smiley Joe wasn't getting him over the hump. Emmett sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. He knew what needed to be done, and he also knew who would have to do the honors.

Plunking down into his recliner, he sent his psychiatrist-brother-in-law a text. **_Can we talk? Soon_?**

He turned on the TV and scrolled aimlessly through the guide. If Jasper didn't get back to him right away, it usually meant he was with a patient and would check messages at ten minutes before the hour. The minutes dragged on while Emmett tried to plan out what the hell he was going to say.

**Come over for dinner tonight. Alice is making your favorite meatloaf**.

**_No offense, Jas, I really need to talk to you alone._**

**You okay? Want to talk now? I have a few.**

Emmett hated that his brother-in-law was now going to worry about him for the next two hours, but nine minutes wasn't enough time to do anything but open the wound. **_I can wait till noon. Lunch at Duke's- Lake Union? _**

**Sure.**

No flack about the short notice? Yeah, Jas was worried.

Ignoring his Twitter feed, Emmett grabbed his book and headed out to the balcony. Coach had suggested _The Boys in the Boat _during spring training, and Emmett was eager to get past the gruesome training rituals to the Olympic glory. He'd known a bunch of rowers at UCLA, had heard a few of their horror stories, but nothing this extreme. He supposed baseballers had it easy compared to rowers or maybe that's what Coach wanted them to believe. Emmett's mind strayed away from the page more times than he could count, but each time, he reread the paragraph and pressed on. Eleven thirty finally had the grace to arrive, and Emmett hopped in a taxi.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hope you all enjoyed the survey of Emmett's mental landscape! And hey, I even threw in a book recommendation for your reading pleasure! I do recommend _The Boys in the Boat _if you're inclined toward a nonfiction. Hmm, what's Jasper going to advise Emmett to do? And also, how the HELL is Emmett going to hold himself together for Edward's locker room visit after THAT? These questions and more will be answered...eventually. MWAH! **XXX ~BOH**

**Last week for voting for your favorite fanfic completed in March, and _Benched_ is among the nominations, along with some other stories you might want to add to your TBR. Fix up this link if you'd like to take a look, and your votes are always most appreciated!  
twifanfictionrecs dotcom /2015/04/01/vote-for-your-top-ten-completed-fics-march-2015/**


	6. Chapter 6

**XXX CHAPTER 6 XXX**

Whenever Jasper had more than a quick lunch hour, he'd make the trip to the Duke's near Emmett's building, and they'd couple their lunch chat with a walk on the beach. "Don't tell anyone I said so, but sand and water are the best therapists money can't buy," Jas liked to say.

The Capitol Hill location near Jasper's office had a more urban vibe; you'd find more Armani suits than bathing suits, and the service was more efficient than the beachfront spot. Either way, Emmett enjoyed the clam chowder and casual atmosphere. The manager recognized him right away and tucked him away in a corner where he wouldn't be pestered—or hopefully even noticed. When Jasper arrived promptly at noon, he was led back without ceremony.

Emmett stood and gave his sister's husband a full-hug, half-slap greeting before dropping onto the edge of his chair, where he sat tense and stiff while Jasper arranged his napkin in his lap. "Thanks for meeting me on such short notice."

"It's a Smiley Joe day, huh?" Jasper was sneaking analytical glances and measuring Emmett's mental state.

Emmett shrugged. "How's Alice?"

"She's fine. Busy. She has two weddings this weekend."

"Business is booming."

"Yes, love is in the air. Do you know what you're having?" Jas asked, perusing the menu.

"Crab cakes and chowder."

Without really looking at anything, he closed his menu. "Sounds good. Okay, why are we here?'

"They have the best chowder in Seattle?"

"Mmhmm, right." Jasper folded his hands on the table and tipped his head at an unnatural the-doctor-is-in angle. "Are you doing okay over that whole perfect game fiasco? That had to suck big, sweaty balls."

An ugly laugh escaped Emmett. "Are you trying to get me excited here?"

"Is it working?" he answered, grinning.

"Not particularly. And no, it's not that. I mean yes, it did suck pretty hard, but I'm okay."

The waiter came by and took their orders, thankfully without any star-struck nonsense. Jasper perched forward in his chair.

"Emmett, what is it? Is it your shoulder again?"

"No, Jas. The arm's fine. This isn't anything physical." Emmett gave him a pleading glance he knew Jasper would understand. He hated asking for help, especially of the roll-over-and-let-me-crawl-inside-your-head variety.

"Okay. I'm listening."

God bless Jasper Whitlock. "I'm not sure where to begin. Have you seen the news coverage lately, the Twitter guy?"

"Of course. 69 fanatic. Jesus, is he stalking you?"

Emmett laughed, but it came out dark and hollow. "If anything, I think I'm stalking him at this point."

"Sorry, you lost me."

Emmett drew in a deep breath. "He and I have been chatting a bit, actually kind of a lot—for me."

"Dammit, Em. Do I need to give you my lecture on internet safety? You know that's dangerous, right?"

"It is, but not for the reason you think."

"How's that? Is there some new internet scam I don't know about?"

"Yes. It's called attraction." _There. It's out now. _Wasn't he supposed to feel better? He felt a little better, but he also felt a little worse.

Jasper's eyebrows popped up. "Ohhhhhhh. So you've been '_chat-_ting'?" The last word was punctuated by dramatic finger quotes and a lecherous wink.

"Good god, you're a train wreck. People actually pay you for your advice?"

"I'm sorry," Jasper said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You're all over the place. I can't keep up. Okay, I'm gonna shut up now. Please continue."

Emmett laughed. "Believe me, I have been feeling the same way. Like somebody may have moved my center of gravity." As the words left his mouth, Emmett realized exactly how dangerous his disorientation could be. Pitching required a firm balance.

"Exactly what have you and this fan of yours been talking about?"

"Nothing really. Baseball, mostly. Locker rooms . . . _Star Trek_."

"Stop. Rewind. Locker rooms? What about them?"

"When I offered to meet him somewhere—sort of hypothetically but not really—he asked if he could visit the Mariners' locker room."

"Hmm, that's a fairly eccentric choice."

Emmett chuckled. "Not if you're a gay man with a passion for baseball."

"I'll trust you on that one." Jas leaned forward. "Annnnd?"

"And nothing. He doesn't know—as far as I know. I mean I haven't told him, and we haven't discussed it."

"So what _did_ you say?"

"I told him to come down to the locker room after the game on Thursday."

"Sounds like you're going to meet him in three days," Jas said, sipping his iced tea and giving nothing away with his exasperatingly inscrutable expression.

"Jas, what if the guy is a psycho? Isn't there a term for an obsessive fan?"

"Yes. Fanatic."

"Very funny." Emmett scowled while the waiter set down their food. If anything, Emmett was even more agitated than before. Ravenous from the morning's activities, he forked a full quarter of the crab cake into his mouth. "Okay, why doesn't he show his face? Christ, he could be eighty . . . or fifteen, for all I know. I could go to jail!"

That earned Emmett a pair of raised eyebrows from the good doctor, who was busy stirring the oyster crackers into his chowder. "Do you know many eighty-year-olds with Twitter accounts?"

Emmett ranted on. "He's only given me his first name, and I had to pry it out of him. That's suspicious, no?"

"Some might say 'cautious.'"

Jasper was pushing his buttons, for sure, sticking up for the stranger, causing Emmett to dig even deeper for flaws—and he was quickly running out of ammunition. To buy himself some time, he downed a couple of spoonfuls of chowder while his brother-in-law waited ever so patiently. _Aha!_

"He's afraid of heights!" There. A bona fide phobia the psychiatrist would be forced to acknowledge.

Jasper narrowed his eyes and gave Emmett a serious nod. "Hmm, in that case, I would _definitely_ stay away from him."

"I knew it!" What should've left him feeling triumphant seemed to have had the exact opposite effect.

"Jesus, Emmett, I was kidding."

"Oh." _You are so fucked up, Mac._

Jasper wiped his mouth and tucked the napkin under his soup bowl. "Cut the shit, Em. Why did you really call me?"

"You always buy?" Emmett batted his eyelashes, and the two of them chuckled.

"I'll tell you what I'm hearing. For the last fifteen minutes, you've thrown out every feeble excuse you could think of for staying away from this guy, hoping I'll jump on board. Guess what? It's not working."

"No, I can see that."

Jasper's tone softened. "Emmett, you've repressed your feelings for such a long time, it's become your reality. Enter this stranger,"—Emmett cleared his throat, causing Jasper to roll his eyes—"someone who challenges your carefully constructed bubble, and you're suddenly a quivering mess."

"Is that your professional diagnosis?"

"Yes. Trouble sleeping, stomach upset, distractedness, invasive fantasies . . . any of this sound familiar?"

"There's a certain ring of truth," Emmett said, misery turning down the edges of his mouth.

Jasper smiled. "There's good news here. Your illness has a cure, and I'm pretty sure you know what it is because you are doing your damnedest to run away from it."

"And if I keep running?"

Jasper's warm eyes cradled Emmett as he delivered the verdict with a sad shake of his head. "I wouldn't recommend it."

A torrent of mixed emotions swam between Emmett's ears. He'd always known the day would eventually come when he'd be forced to actively choose between his private life and his career. He just never considered that day might be this Thursday.

Sensing the chaos Emmett was slogging through, Jasper continued. "Please understand, Emmett, I'm no Pollyanna. I get that your career is everything right now, and Major League Baseball isn't exactly running the rainbow banner up the flagpole, but you're one of the top five pitchers in the country at the moment. Surely that currency outstrips whatever genitalia happen to be adorning the person you're screwing."

Emmett's laughter spluttered out. "That is maybe the most unglamorous description of sexual orientation I have ever heard!"

"Shit, you know what I mean. I'm not your agent or your coach or your manager; I'm family—and your unofficial therapist, I suppose."

Emmett couldn't remember ever having a problem he couldn't bring to Jasper. "What's the difference between this and official therapy?"

"Two-fifty an hour." Jasper gave him a grin.

There was no question who pulled in the bigger salary since Emmett signed with the Mariners, but he knew Jas only ever felt pride in Emmett's outrageous success. "Anyway . . ."

"Right. Look, I've kept my mouth shut for all these years because you asked me to, and you know I'd never betray you. But this lonely life of lies is not what I ever would've wanted for you. You seem like you might be into this guy."

"God, Jas, I think I really am. It's stupid, right? We've barely talked, never met . . ."

"What _do_ you know about him?"

"Let's see . . . his first name is Edward. Oh, interesting factoid—he's teaching math at Sawyer's school in the fall."

"What? Wow, this could make for some very interesting parent-teacher conferences."

Emmett chuckled. "Not for a while. He teaches sixth grade."

"Okay, good," Jasper answered, patting his chest. "That could've been a wee bit awkward."

Chucking his napkin onto the table, Emmett leaned back in his chair. "I need to stop this idiotic pining. Who knows if there will even be any chemistry between us?"

"You'll know the second you meet him. But I think you can tell plenty from the written word as well."

Emmett nodded, his heart cautiously tipping toward _yes_ as Jasper continued.

"I've read the interview. I liked what he said and how he said it. He's protective of you."

"He is." A surge of warmth for Edward bubbled in Emmett's chest.

"Good. So give him a chance."

"He has over twenty-five thousand followers now. One little tweet, and I'm a goner."

"Maybe," Jas replied. "And maybe you could be happy—truly happy—for the first time in your life. How long have you been hiding, Em? Since that birthday party in second grade? It might be time to actually be with the person you want to be with—out in the open."

"Ugh, thanks for reminding me about my seven minutes in hell."

"Pshh, Bella's not that bad."

"You're an asshole, Jas."

"So you tell me every time we get together." Jasper grinned and signaled for the check.

"Thanks for lunch, I guess."

"Hey, look on the bright side," Jas said. "This guy might look like Quasimodo. Problem solved."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yup, easy peasy. :) It's been too many chapters since I thanked my back office- Jayme, LadyV, Shad, Shell, and of course Chayasara for all the help-both large and smaller. I remember Shell pointing out in this chapter (with one of her sweet questions-as-comments) that I'd originally cast Jasper as Emmett's brother, who was now married to Emmett's sister. Born don't play that way. And this is why we have pre-readers, folks (and delete buttons). *WINK*

ALSO, muchas gracias to everyone who voted "Benched" into the top ten completed fics of March. Your love for these boys keeps me writing. And your reviews keep me smiling. So what'd you think of Jasper's advice? New England Clam Chowdah or Manhattan?  
**XXX ~BOH**


	7. Chapter 7

**XXX CHAPTER 7 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Night games under the bright lights**

Yup. I had to hand it to him there. The black sky above and the crisp clarity of the field's greens, bronzes, and whites under the brighter-than-daytime lights . . . the imagery tugged hard on the old heartstrings. Wasn't it only fair to tell him publicly?

**ɸbigmac69: ɸ69fanatic Night games definitely in my top ten #whatiloveaboutbaseball**

The torrent of WE LOVE YOU MAC! messages came pouring in as soon as the tweet left his fingers. Sweet, but he wanted the spotlight on Edward, not himself. Emmett favorited and retweeted and went to the kitchen to kale up.

He blamed Jasper for his poor night's sleep . . . what was that shrink-speak for Emmett's condition again? Oh yes, a quivering mess. Thursday would tell, he supposed. He'd either have a much larger dilemma on his hands or none at all. If asked, Emmett could not have honestly said which outcome he was rooting for.

Emmett flicked the juicer switch and watched the bright blues, reds, and greens jump and spin and squirt their final flamboyant gasps of color before submitting to the muted, homogeneous sludge. He grabbed his book and headed to the balcony, resisting a powerful physical pull toward the desk. He'd gone the whole day yesterday without any contact, and today he'd already caved before breakfast.

_You are being an idiot. What's the big deal about talking to the guy? Worried he'll get to know the real you and not just worship the hero he thinks he knows?_

_Sip your drink. Turn your face to the sun. Breathe. Relax, Mac. _

A half hour later and no further into his book, Emmett grabbed the keys to his Spyder, then thought better of it and opted for his bike instead. The riding path to the stadium followed along Alki beach where it jutted out into the sound. The sun warmed Emmett's back and produced tiny, shimmering diamonds along the surface of the water. He rode at a relaxed pace, just enough to generate a light burn in his quads. Jasper's colleagues, Doctors Sand and Sea, worked their healing magic on Emmett, leaving him stretched and relaxed as he hit the West Seattle Bridge.

_This was a good idea,_ he decided, rounding the turn onto First. He almost couldn't wait to throw a few pitches. Maybe he'd get a massage today after he worked out his arm. _Yes, I am full of great ideas today._

"Well, look who's here," Coach Waits said, slapping Emmett on the back. "An hour early for practice. That's the kind of dedication that'll keep you right on top of the junk heap, Mac. Ready to get to work?"

"Yeah, Coach. Let me just change out of these bike shorts."

"Go free Willie, son," he said, the edges of his coach's mustache curling with his smile. "And Emmett, we're all really proud of you."

Coach Waits gave Emmett a tight squeeze around his shoulders and watched like a loving father as Emmett jogged toward the locker room. The locker room—movie set for his dirty fantasies, future site of his meeting with Edward. Emmett changed quickly and avoided looking anywhere near the showers.

Coach Waits met him outside. "Take a quick jog out to the fence and back. Then we'll get you stretched out and wake up the arm. Sound good?"

"Sure, Coach."

Emmett took off toward right field.

As his feet kicked up over the bright green grass, Emmett considered Edward's tweets about what he loved about baseball. Despite his recent curmudgeonry, Emmett really did love this game, and there was nowhere he would rather have been on a gorgeous summer day than right here on Safeco Field. With each footfall, Emmett added to his own list of favorites.

He liked striking guys out and sending in the pitch that controlled the play. He loved being the one to throw out the runner at the plate—just when the guy was starting to count on that run. He liked being out there on the field, surrounded by his teammates. It felt good to work his ass off at practice and walk away with the respect of his team and the owners and the coaching staff. Emmett loved winning.

By the time he met his coach at the mound, Emmett was re-energized and ready to go hard. Hicks took his stance behind the plate, and the two launched into their pitch-and-catch drill. They clicked into a great rhythm, popping the ball back and forth at an ever-increasing speed. At the edge of his field of vision, Emmett could see Waits grinning.

"Whatever has gotten into you, Mac, I sure hope it sticks around for a while," Coach told him at the end of practice.

Emmett stifled a grin. "Thanks, Coach. Speaking of which, I need to ask a favor."

XXX

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Every player can be measured objectively by a uniform set of statistics.**

**Direct Message ɸ69fanatic: Even if they get it wrong sometimes.**

And there Emmett went again, not even drinking his breakfast before messaging his fan.

**Yes, there is that. I'm still pissed! **

Emmett couldn't help but smile at his fierce warrior waging his statistical battle against the league. **No time to look back. I'm all about tomorrow's game.**

**I like your chances.**

Emmett did too, but nothing was certain in baseball. One lucky batter could change everything. Feeling diplomatic, Emmett typed, **Should be a good game.**

**Yes, for the home team.**

**Well, we do have the best fans in the league.**

**No argument from me. **

**So about tomorrow…you still want that tour?**

**Yes, please.**

Good god! Manners? What kind of old-fashioned guy had Emmett unearthed? He'd find out tomorrow night, he guessed. **You'll be on the security list. They just need your last name.**

There was none of the earlier hesitation he'd shown when Emmett had asked for his first name.

**Cullen. **

Edward Cullen. That had a nice ring to it. Emmett held his breath as he typed the last bit he'd been instructed to pass along.

**Hope you understand-we can't allow females into the locker room, so your wife or girlfriend will have to wait outside for you.**

**That won't be an issue. Mind if my dad joins me?**

Another tally in the "probably gay" column made Emmett smile hard. **I'd love to meet you and Mr. Cullen, Sr.**

**Technically, that's Doctor Cullen.**

**Ah, I see you come from smart stock.**

**Yep. Mom's no slouch either- family law.**

**Mom doesn't get to come to the games?**

**She loves the game, but she's always let baseball be Dad's thing to do with me. Honestly, he's the reason I became such a huge fan.**

An uplifting image of father and young son popped into Emmett's mind. He'd spent so much more of his life on the field than in the stands, he barely remembered that warm fuzzy of sharing a bag of peanuts or doing the wave or stretching for a foul tip together.

**That's sweet. Have any brothers or sisters?**

**Nope. Just me.**

**Somehow I don't think your folks are disappointed. **Maybe the comment was a little personal, but Edward was making him bolder.

**If they are, they've been good enough to hide it!**

**Yeah, mine too, **he typed with a smile. **Cuts down on the therapy bills**. Also helped to have a brother-in-law to listen to him off the clock.

Edward's reply surprised him.** Do you think we're the exceptions? Two guys whose parents didn't mess us up?**

Before answering, Emmett took a second to marvel at the intimacy of their conversation. Would it be awkward when they met in person tomorrow?

**Based on my informal sampling of the knuckleheads all around me, I'd say yes. Definitely.**

**You have to admit, it is somewhat unusual for a pro athlete as successful as you to be well adjusted.**

**You don't know me that well!**

There was a noticeable pause, the kind that makes a person sit back and reread the last few lines to see what the hell he might have said wrong. _Shit_! Edward was sensitive to overstepping, and maybe Emmett had just played on that fear. He was just preparing his apology when Edward's message appeared on his screen.

**Maybe we can fix that.**

XXX

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball "Take Me Out to the Ball Game"** **at the seventh inning stretch.**

Emmett was going to have the damn song stuck in his head all day now. "I'm gonna kick your ass, Edward Cullen," he said to his computer as he walked by. The pull to sit down and chat with Edward was almost a physical tug at this point—but a tug he needed to resist.

Most of the players Emmett knew were prisoners to some level of superstition, held hostage by routines involving everything from when to wash their jocks to whether or not to cut their hair. Emmett had always prided himself on not getting locked into any kind of nutty rigidity, but he'd stuck by one rule he had set for himself long ago—avoiding distractions on game day. That meant not reading his news feed, not picking up the newspaper, and not talking to his agent. And he'd learned the hard way over the years that it absolutely meant not placing your secret lover in the front row of the stands over the bullpen—though, _damn,_ what a temptation!

As Emmett hopped into his Spyder, he thanked his lucky stars that he didn't know where Edward and the good doctor-father were sitting. At this point, Edward Cullen was a melon with potential—firm to the touch with a sweet scent and a stem that yielded just right when Emmett teased it with his thumbs. But until you slice open a cantaloupe, you never know what's inside. For now, Emmett needed to avoid all thoughts of Edward Cullen's potentially tasty flesh.

The warmup routine proved to be a comforting, rigorous march, occupying mind and body to the exclusion of outside thoughts. And once suited up for the game, Emmett was one hundred percent focused on his pitching. The first two innings held all the promise of another perfect game, but in the third, Seth Smith's single stole away the no-hitter as well. Emmett sulked for as long as it took him to slap the ball into his mitt a few times, forced himself to stop "hearing" the "not this time" laments he was sure must be filling the airwaves, and struck out the next two batters.

He jogged in from the field with his teammates, getting butt slapped right and left all the way to the dugout. Seaver crowded in next to Emmett on the bench.

"Nice recovery there, Mac."

"Fucking Smith grabbed that curveball. I knew I was screwed when it left his bat."

Seaver nudged him with his shoulder. "We'll get you the win tonight. Don't worry."

"Thanks, man."

The other players didn't need to speak to show their support. As they walked by Emmett, they rubbed his head or gave him a nod that said it all.

Maybe Emmett was getting tired by the seventh-inning stretch, or maybe it was getting too close to the promised locker room visit. Maybe it was the damn song Edward had planted in Emmett's brain like a time bomb waiting to explode. All he knew was at "One, two, three strikes you're out," Emmett was scanning the sea of jerseys in the stands for some person he'd never met while figuring out how to regain his focus.

"How's the arm?" Coach asked as the noise of the crowd died down.

Emmett rolled his shoulders. "Doing fine, Coach."

"Go get 'em, Mac!"

The Mariners took the field with a one-nothing lead. Venable pushed Emmett to a full count and tipped three foul balls before Emmett finally drew the third strike. _Two more outs,_ Emmett told himself, winding up a fastball to Rivera. _Crack! _Line drive to left field. Emmett held his breath as the ball sailed over Sanders and bounced off the fence. The left fielder chased it down and threw the ball to Millen, but Rivera was already approaching second. _Fuck! Game over._

Emmett went through the motions of getting ready for the next batter, but Waits was already jogging out to take him off the mound.

"Good game, Mac," he said. "Let's give that arm a break."

They jogged in together as the reliever took the mound. Emmett continued straight into the locker room, tossed his jersey into the laundry pile, and surrendered his aching muscles to the trainer.

"How's your shoulder feeling?" Trey asked him.

"I'll live," Emmett answered, sinking into one of the chairs lined up in front of a giant TV screen.

Trey chuffed. "That good, eh?" While Emmett watched the end of the game, Trey secured a towel over his shoulder and set the ice pack in place. Emmett jumped out of his chair, dumping the ice to the floor as Rivera reached third on a single, but Rodney struck out the next batter, and Emmett was able to take his seat again and relax. Fuller took the mound at the top of the ninth to close out the game with a resounding two-nothing victory for the Mariners.

The locker room swarmed with a sloppy stream of high-fives, happy shouts, and scary-ugly victory dances. Emmett squirmed in his chair, itching to celebrate with his teammates.

Trey chuckled and shook his head at Emmett's impatience. "Go! Enjoy your victory."

"Thanks, boss." Hopping out of his seat, Emmett tossed the ice pack to his trainer. He sought out Fuller first, clasping hands and swapping compliments. As the two men chatted, their teammates formed a makeshift receiving line on their way to the showers. Careful not to jostle the valuable throwing arms, the Mariners filed past their pitchers, playfully slapping their bellies or backs. The line of naked athletes might have had an entirely different effect on Emmett if these knuckleheads weren't like brothers he knew all too well.

"Yo, Mac! You have a couple of visitors."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Dun dun DUNNNNN! Quick, Emmett, put your shirt on! Hee-hee! Thank you all for your delicious impatience to get to next week's scene, especially you, Jessa. *wink* Love you guys! If you're not in my FB group, Born's Pumpkin Patch, you might be missing out on some heartwarming baseball stories and inspiring photos.  
**XXX ~BOH**

PS- did you people happen to notice how LONG this one was? Aren't I good to you?


	8. Chapter 8

**XXX CHAPTER 8 XXX**

A flock of butterflies beat their wings against the walls of Emmett's stomach as he turned toward the door. The pair of them in their Mariners caps and matching white, button-down jerseys made Emmett smile. He couldn't discern much more than tall, lean figures from across the room, two caps turning left and right, scanning for Emmett. As he stepped out of the shadows and walked toward his guests, Emmett could distinguish the younger man's features from the proud father angled behind him, taking a back seat to his son's special moment.

_Damn . . . Did that crazy hair poking out from under his cap have a reddish tint to it? _Every step brought new details into focus, and by God, Emmett needed the whole damn picture. He picked up speed, jogging toward the Cullens with his heart in his throat.

_Turn this way and show me your eyes, _Emmett willed him, but as he drew closer, Emmett realized that Edward Cullen was taking his sweet, damn time surveying the locker room. In fact, the guy didn't seem all that interested in finding anyone in particular.

_What did you expect from the gay man with a locker room fetish? _Emmett chuckled in pure amusement as he closed in on Edward's unconcealed glee; the guy had a grin about a mile wide. _Fucking hell, he is adorable!_

The doctor spotted Emmett first, smiled, and pointed Edward's shoulders head-on for Emmett. Edward's eyes popped wide open as they landed on Emmett for the first time, giving Emmett a clear view and good, long look at the face he'd only seen in his imagination. Warm, gold-splattered hazel eyes sat deep beneath a pair of bushy, dark auburn brows, while a long, broad nose cut a separation between the warring almond-shaped eye on one side and wispy, hooded feather on the other. The only symmetry to be found was the picture-perfect set of slightly bowed, delicate lips sitting above a chin that could have been squared off with a ruler. Who gave all those random parts the right to align into a devastatingly gorgeous face?

As he closed the distance between them, Emmett extended his right hand, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. He unleashed his smile and shot his victim with it right between those mismatched eyes. "You must be Edward."

Edward turned bright red and swiped off his cap like a guy who realized one beat into the "Star-Spangled Banner" that he still had it on. Long, sexy fingers raked through the mad nest that shook out while Edward took a deep breath and a sharp swallow. Bobbling his hat and program—and dear Lord, the man had a mitt!—into his left hand, Edward clasped Emmett's hand.

"Yes." He barely managed to force out the word but continued after clearing his throat. "Wow, I can't . . ." Edward shook his head and chuckled at himself. "I apologize for acting like a star-struck idiot. I didn't want to be 'fan boy.' It's just . . . I'm shaking hands with the best pitcher in the league . . . I mean, I'm shaking the actual _hand_ that throws the pitches!"

Despite himself, Emmett's cheeks heated up at the oozing exaggerations.

Edward's smile fell. "Oh god, am I embarrassing you?"

"No, son," his father chimed in with a gentle chuckle, "you're only embarrassing yourself."

"You're fine," Emmett said, "though I'm not so sure 'best pitcher' is one hundred percent accurate."

Shy Edward left the building, and in his place, a fully animated, confident man took Emmett to task. "Okay, even without recalculating for the blatant error costing you your perfect game," he began with a dramatic eye roll, "your strikeout-to-walk ratio is highest in the league, and your WHIP is the lowest."

His father leaned forward and grinned. "Never argue with a mathematician."

Emmett shook his head as somberly as he could without laughing. "I wouldn't dare."

"Anyway," Edward said, "you pitched a great game tonight."

"Thanks." Holding onto the handshake, Emmett added, "It's nice to finally meet you in the flesh."

"Same here, obviously." So much for confident Edward; the moment the conversation veered from numbers, he became flustered and had to clear his throat again. "Oh, this is my dad, Carlisle." Edward angled his head toward his father. "Dad, meet Emmett McCarty."

Carlisle nodded and gave his son a gentle nudge. "I'd love to, son, if you could manage to release the man's hand?"

"Oh god, shoot me now," Edward said as he loosened his grip.

Emmett chuckled lightly. "Very nice to meet you, Carlisle. I understand I have you to thank for your son's loyalty."

"Oh, did he tell you that?" Carlisle's laugh was crisp and clear and completely uninhibited. It seemed of the three of them, Dr. Cullen was the only one at ease. "It's true I passed down my love for the game of baseball, but as for my son's passion for you in particular, I'm afraid I can't take an ounce of credit for that. That's all on you."

Edward was squirming worse than a runner caught between second and third, yet he wasn't even trying to deflect the conversation. He was clearly embarrassed but somehow managed to be utterly unapologetic for his slavish devotion. This man seemed incapable of hiding his feelings. His heart wasn't just on his sleeve; it was splattered all over the poor guy's body—in the eyes darting away and returning to Emmett, the fingers tugging at his tortured head of hair, the cheeks sinking against perfect, high bones as he sucked them toward the center of his mouth.

Emmett was charmed. In a world filled with posers, Edward was a man who put it all out there. His very next thought punched him in the gut: Could an honest man like Edward Cullen ever respect a liar like Emmett McCarty?

"Speaking of what's on me and what's on you, would you mind . . .?" Emmett spun his finger in a small "turn around" motion in the air.

"What? You wanna see my back?"

"Mmhmm." Emmett was grinning ear to ear.

"Oh brother! Fine." Edward huffed, blushed all over again, and dumped everything he was holding in his father's arms. Raising his arms out to his sides, he made a slow spin until his back was facing Emmett. Peering back over his shoulder, Edward asked, "Are we happy now?"

_As a matter of fact, yes,_ Emmett was thinking. _We are so very happy now. _This was insanity. In the past four years, the MLB had sold over 6,000 official jerseys with his name and number on the back, and Emmett had never given it a second thought. But this particular "McCarty" on this particular person's back was doing all kinds of things to his insides. Before he realized what was happening, Emmett had stepped closer and plucked up the fabric at Edward's shoulder.

"C'mon. I had to check," he said. "It even looks clean. Must be laundry week."

Edward smiled at their private joke. "Well, I wanted to impress you."

"Mission accomplished." _Fuck, _Emmett was getting giddy here. "So, I believe I promised you two a tour?"

Edward cleared his throat. "If it's not an inconvenience."

Emmett chuckled. "This place isn't exactly the Palace of Versailles. The VIP tour only lasts about, oh, five minutes. Then again, you're the first person I've ever given a tour, so I might be off a minute or two."

"One isn't exactly a statistically significant sample size."

Carlisle slapped a palm to his forehead, and Edward gave him an apologetic shrug. Oh, Jasper would have a field day with this father-son pair.

"Come on, Professor," Emmett said. "Let me show you where the magic happens."

"Oh, we're back to 'Professor' again, are we?"

Edward's grin stretched from ear to ear, and Emmett couldn't help but smile back. His heart felt as though it could've sailed out of his chest and floated to the ceiling. _Could it really be this easy and enjoyable to be with someone?_

"Follow me," he said, leading them first to his locker. "Here we are, home sweet home."

"Wow. Nice," Edward said, reaching out to touch the solid maple shelves. "Sorry, is it okay if I . . .?"

"Knock yourself out." Emmett stepped aside and stared as Edward's palm rushed across the surface. The man was so damn reverent, it was humbling.

Edward's gaze wandered slowly around the space as if he were committing each angle to memory. His eyes lit up as they landed on Emmett's jersey, hung on the outermost hook, declaring his space. Grinning back at Emmett, Edward said, "Hey, look! We match."

Emmett had to pretend to cough to cover up his laughter, but Edward seemed not to notice or care.

"Would it be too much to ask for a picture with my dad?" Edward dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Sure thing."

Edward typed in some lengthy password—probably the square root of pi—and handed the phone to Emmett. Daddy C stepped into place, and the two threw their arms around each other's shoulders.

"Ready?"

"Oh wait, hang on." Edward pushed his hair out of his eyes and pulled on his cap. "Okay, ready."

"One, two, three, say, 'Seeeeeeee-attle.'"

Emmett snapped the picture and checked the screen to make sure he hadn't fucked it up. "You two look pretty good in my locker," he joked.

"I bet you'd look better," Carlisle said. "Here, switch places with me, would you?"

"Oh, uh . . . I feel a bit underdressed here." Emmett glanced down at his bare belly, then over at Edward. "You want me to put my shirt on?"

Emmett had never seen a person blush a brighter shade of red. _Goddammit, he is fucking irresistible! _Edward's jaw dropped open, but no words came out.

His father jumped in to save the day. "You're fine—as long as you don't mind, Emmett."

_You're trending on Twitter. _This was the kind of stunt one of the flashier guys might pull, someone who wanted to appear on Calvin Klein billboards in boxer briefs. "Come to think of it, maybe this isn't such a hot idea," he said. "I wouldn't want something like this to hit the internet." _People might get the right idea._

All the color drained out of Edward's cheeks, and hurt settled behind his eyes. "I would never do that to you."

_Crap. _Edward hadn't shared one hint of their private conversations, and he didn't deserve Emmett's mistrust. "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't."

Emmett shimmied into the spot where Carlisle had been. Because he knew Edward wouldn't make the first move, Emmett reached his arm around Edward's waist and whispered, "Sorry about the smell," into his ear.

Carlisle snapped the picture just as Edward burst out laughing. "I really couldn't care less," he answered.

Grinning like a loon, Emmett said, "Oh yeah?" and raised his arm around Edward's shoulders. "How about now?"

Edward turned his head so they were practically nose to nose. Returning the gesture and pulling Emmett in even closer, he answered, "Still not a problem," with a sly smirk of his own.

The flash went off, catching the two of them in their moment of unguarded joy.

"Do you think your dad knows the trick about warning people when he's about to take a picture?"

"Yes, I just don't think he cares."

They shared a chuckle, ignoring the flash that captured them again. "Maybe we should look at the camera, just once?"

Edward shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay, here we go," Emmett said, preparing to tear himself away from Edward's huge smile and bright, glinting eyes. "On the count of three . . . one, two, three!"

"That's a keeper," Carlisle said, smiling as he handed the phone back to his son.

"Let's move on; believe it or not, there are actually more interesting things to see than my locker." Emmett dropped his arm with no small measure of reluctance and started toward the gym. "So . . . obviously the room with all the bright, shiny machines would be our workout room, and over here's the—" Edward's head swiveled around as Darryl Bender stepped out of the shower and tucked a towel around his waist—"shower."

"Edward and Carlisle Cullen, meet Darryl Bender. Darryl, say hello to my friends."

"Oh, right. Mac's stats guy, right?"

Edward stepped forward with an outstretched hand and a beaming smile. "Yes, that would be me."

"Cool. Did you happen to see that strike they called on me in the fourth inning?"

"Yes," Edward said. "Terrible call."

"Right?" Bender nodded, shooting Emmett a told-you-so face. "So, let's say, for argument's sake, I would've hit, oh, a double there instead. What would that make my slugging percentage?"

Emmett stepped between them, physically breaking their connection. "Give the guy a break, Bent. He didn't come here to do math." _And he's mine._

"It's fine," Edward answered. "I don't mind, but I don't have that answer at my fingertips. I'd have to go home and work it out for you."

Emmett stared angry laser beams into Bender's eyes, and thick as the guy was, he got the message. "Well, if you get a chance, that'd be cool. I don't want to keep you. Enjoy your visit."

Waiting until Bender was out of earshot, Emmett leaned in and said to Edward, "You do realize everyone on this team would have you crunching their numbers night and day if you let them."

Edward shrugged. "I really don't mind. I don't start my job until August."

Emmett was at a loss. "Suit yourself. Here, I thought you might like to see the trainers' room."

Three of Emmett's teammates were face-down on massage tables having their post-game kinks worked out. "Do you recognize any of those asses?" Emmett laughed at his own joke.

"Fuck you, Mac!"

"Hey, keep it clean. We have company," Emmett said, only half-kidding. "You see that big thug in the corner?"

Edward's gaze followed Emmett's chin. "Mmhmm."

"That's Trey. He does most of my work."

Without looking up from his work, Trey answered, "We drew straws, and I lost."

Emmett chuckled. "You can really feel the love in this room, huh? Well, I guess that's the end of the nickel tour, unless you guys want to see the toilets."

"Glad to see you're keeping it classy, Mac," Trey said.

"Always," Emmett said as he turned toward the door.

"Actually, I was wondering, any chance Doctor Khalfayan is here?" Carlisle asked.

One of the other trainers answered. "Sorry, man. He took off a little while ago."

"Ah, okay." Dr. Cullen looked like a little kid whose cotton candy got knocked off the stick.

"You need a consult or something, doc?" Emmett asked him.

Finally, a hint of embarrassment reached Carlisle's cheeks. "Nothing like that. I just wanted to tell him he's doing a great job."

Emmett glanced over at Edward, who was now granting his father that same mildly amused but supportive smile Carlisle had worn since the two arrived. There was something about the way these two interacted that made Emmett want to call his dad.

"Tell you what. I promise to pass that along when I see him next," Emmett said, giving Carlisle's shoulder a squeeze.

Edward gave Emmett a grateful smile, and the little group headed toward the exit.

"Edward, I feel kind of bad I don't have any souvenirs for you. Can I at least sign your jersey?"

"Yeah, sure. That'd be great." Edward dug a Sharpie out of his pocket and handed it to Emmett with a sheepish grin. "I was hoping."

_Fucking irresistible._ Emmett pulled off the cap. "Where do you want it?" It took all of Emmett's willpower not to wink, but Edward blushed anyway.

He seemed to consider many options before answering. "Better do it on my back, I guess."

Carlisle chuckled again as Edward turned around and waited. Emmett closed the gap between them, placing a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Top or bottom, my friend?"

Edward's answer came back a tight croak. "Surprise me."

Emmett smiled hard and clamped the lid between his teeth. Taking his sweet time, he smoothed the shirt across Edward's shoulders and started scrawling his name above "McCarty" on the jersey. Neither of them drew a breath until he'd finished and Emmett patted him on the back.

Edward half-turned and thanked him.

"Hang on, I'm not done yet." The smile on Edward's face just about killed Emmett as he squatted down and placed the marker just below the numbers. "Big Mac," he wrote in huge, unmistakable block print, underscoring the whole thing with a giant flourish. "Okay, _now_ I'm done."

"What'd you do?" Edward asked, twisting and trying to read over his shoulder.

"I surprised you." _Just like you surprised me._

"Okay. Thanks, I think?" Edward turned around.

"Doc C? You want one too?"

Carlisle handed him the program. "If you don't mind."

"My pleasure."

Carlisle shook Emmett's hand and thanked him again.

"Thanks for everything, Emmett. This really was the chance of a lifetime for me."

"So the locker room lived up to your dreams?" Emmett asked, teasing him.

"Yep," Edward said. "Everything did." He held Emmett's gaze so there could be no misunderstanding his meaning.

"I have to admit," Emmett said, "it was nice to be able to say whatever I wanted to you and not have to worry about limiting myself to 140 characters."

"Well, you know . . . nah, never mind."

"Never mind what?"

Edward fought with himself some more before coming out with it. "I could leave you my cell number, and if you ever wanted to text me . . . or call, I guess . . . totally up to you . . . I promise not to cut you off at 140 characters."

Texting Edward. _Calling_ Edward. Yes, this was a grand idea. "Well, seeing as I don't have my cell on me at the moment . . . why don't you call me?

Edward's face looked pretty much the same as when he first walked into the locker room—like he'd just hit the walk-off home run in the last game of the World Series. He whipped out his phone so fast, Emmett was surprised it didn't go flying across the room. Trying hard not to laugh, Emmett dictated his phone number as Edward eagerly tapped in the digits.

"This right?" he asked, turning the phone so Emmett could see.

"It's MacPerfect."

Edward grinned. "Exactly what I'm putting in my contacts. And I have a couple of great pictures to choose from for the photo. Thanks for that too."

"Hey, send me one of those, would you?"

"Will do. Thanks again, Emmett."

"You can call me 'Mac' if you want."

"Mac." Edward tried it out, shaking his head like he couldn't believe his good fortune.

"Thanks again for coming by. It was great meeting you both."

Emmett extended his hand, and Edward was careful not to overstay his welcome in the handshake. "You have a good night, Emmett."

Emmett waited until they reached the exit before turning toward his locker and dropping his pants. Sure, he could've waited an extra two seconds to ensure they were out of visual range, but as he stripped down to his jock, there was a thrill in knowing that one peek backwards would've left very little to Edward's imagination.

* * *

**Author's Note:** There you have it—their first meeting. Did the locker room meetup live up to YOUR dreams? I'd love to know.  
**XXX ~BOH**


	9. Chapter 9

**XXX CHAPTER 9 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Autographs.**

Well, well, well, Professor. What have we here? Emmett grinned as he clicked on Edward's new profile picture. He must've had Carlisle shoot a picture of his back after they left. A warm glow lit Emmett from the inside out. If there was any smidgen of uncertainty about Edward's loyalty, Emmett's name in triplicate on his back had definitively put an end to it. _Mine, mine, mine!_

His smoothie could wait. Emmett flopped into the desk chair and scrolled through the replies: "Lucky fucker," "Awesome, how'd you get those?" "Jelz!" and Emmett's favorite, "Looks like you had a Big Mac attack on your back!" Not a single response from Edward, as usual.

Jean-Luc Picard's command spurred Emmett to action. _"Engage." _ _I am totally geeking out here._

**Direct Message ****ɸ****69fanatic: I really made a mess of your jersey! Think I owe you a new shirt.**

**Are you kidding? I might never wash this one again!**

**Hey, don't use me as your excuse to neglect your laundry.**

"Oh boy," Emmett said to himself, stepping away from his desk. He pulled open the refrigerator and took a visual inventory. This place read "bachelor" on a good day, and provisions were getting low, but that was okay. The team was headed to Cleveland after tomorrow's afternoon game. Emmett dumped the remains of the blueberries, a banana, and half the kale into the juicer, added the protein powder, and drizzled in some apple juice. His phone startled him, lighting up and buzzing on the counter behind him, and Emmett's first thought was that Edward was calling him.

He cut off the juicer and snatched the phone, grinning when he saw who was calling. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Don't 'good morning' me, mister! You met your fan, and you didn't even tell me!"

"I just woke up, Tam! I've barely had time to scratch my balls."

"Stop trying to sweet talk me and _give!_"

Emmett chuckled in her ear as he carried his smoothie out to the terrace. "What would you like to know?"

"For starters, how's the front look?"

Emmett's gaze wandered across the bay, and Edward's exotic features rippled over the calm surface of the water. The individual components refused to come into focus, but the overall gist—complete with one of Edward's many epic blushes—made Emmett smile. He settled his lips around the rim of his glass and tipped back his drink. When he felt composed enough not to give himself away, he answered, "He's fine."

Tammy's response was unexpectedly quiet. "I knew it."

The skin prickled at the back of Emmett's neck. He'd spoken a total of two words about Edward and had already given himself away. "You knew what?"

"C'mon, Em, it's me. No BS, right?"

He considered disbelief, denial, and even outrage, but he wasn't fooling Tammy, and he wasn't fooling himself. "Okay," he said with a loud sigh. "He's better than fine. He's . . ."

"MacPerfect?"

"Ugh, can we let that one go, please?"

"That depends. Give me some good deets on your man, and I'll consider it."

The smile settled on his face again, and Emmett didn't even try to stop it. "He's fucking adorable, Tammy. He's kind of . . . a hot geek, I guess. He's sweet and unassuming—the only thing he asked for was a picture with his dad in front of my locker."

"You have a picture? Give!"

"No, I took it with his phone. He was supposed to send me one of the two of us." Emmett felt himself blush as he remembered the shirtless poses. "I might've made a bit of a fool of myself."

"What, you mean spraying the guy with your name all over his back? He doesn't seem too upset about it."

"I suppose I got a bit possessive. Would you believe Bender came up and asked him to recalculate his slugger stat? The nerve of that fucking guy."

"That is despicable!" Tammy giggled while Emmett rolled his eyes at both of them.

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what happened there."

"Hmm, do you need me to explain it to you?" Her voice still carried the lilt of a tease, but there was nothing harsh about it.

"Fuck, Tam. What am I gonna do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"You know that stash of gay porn in your naughty file? A whole lot of that, I think." It felt good to turn the tables and tease Tammy for a change.

"Oh my!"

"Mmhmm."

"Damn."

"Exactly." He swallowed the remains of his breakfast and wandered back inside. "So, what am I supposed to do with this?"

"You've had flings before. You know how to do that."

"Edward is nobody's fling!" _Whoa, where did that come from? _"Shit, I'm sorry, Tam. I don't have a clue what I'm doing. All I know is that this guy piqued my interest well before I ever saw him, so it can't be just a physical thing. Don't get me wrong—he is not hard on the eyes—but I feel like there's so much more _there_ this time."

"All right. Take a deep breath."

"Tam—"

"Listen to me," she said, her voice holding just the right mix of compassion and authority. "Your devoted fan is not going anywhere, so there's no reason to rush. Take your time. Get to know him. Are you even sure he's gay?"

"Short of catching him with a dick in his mouth, I'm pretty damn sure."

"Thank you for the lovely visual. Okay, let's assume you're right. He's gay, and clearly he's fixated on you."

"Ya think?"

"Fine. I take back my comment about your being an egomaniac."

"I love it when you're wrong."

"Moving on . . . why not try to deepen the friendship and just let nature take its course?"

Emmett let out an exasperated sigh. "You have no idea how hard it is not to flirt. He blushes at the drop of a hat. He's so damn easy."

"You better be careful. It would be cruel to lead him on if you're not going to follow through."

"I want to follow through." _So fucking badly. _"Just standing next to him was torture, especially in front of the other guys. I honestly don't know how anyone could not have known yesterday."

"They're not looking for it, so they don't see it."

"I guess," he said, "but how much longer can I hold out?"

"I think it's pretty remarkable how long you've already lasted."

"It's not like I've had a choice.

Tammy stayed quiet, but Emmett heard the truth through the silence. _There's always a choice. _"Fuck," he whispered.

"C'mon, Em, you're gonna be fine. You'll figure this out."

"I sure fucking hope so. I don't want to blow this." The more they talked about Edward, the more Emmett wanted to talk _to _him, and that wasn't helping at all. "So, did you find a dress for the gala?"

"I have. Still looking for fabulous heels."

"Why? They won't even show!"

"Ugh! Aren't gay men supposed to understand fashion? I swear, you're useless."

"I'm pretty good at figuring out which uniform shirt goes with which pants."

Tammy chuckled. "Your tux is clean, right? And that Mariner-teal tie?"

"Um, no. I'll go so far as the studs and cufflinks, but the bowtie is black."

"I'm sure you will be a handsome devil whatever you choose."

"Thanks, Tam. And you will be the belle of the ball."

"Aww, you say the sweetest things. Listen, if you need to talk, I'm here, okay?"

Emmett sighed and closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"Love you."

"Yeah, you too."

Emmett ended the call and spotted the text bubble on his phone. Three messages waiting . . . _Media content in this message. _His heartbeat spiked when he saw that all three were photos from Edward. _Operation Friendship_, _here we go._

He tapped the first picture impatiently, and the image opened and filled his screen. Edward was pitched forward with laughter as Emmett grinned at him. The next one was dangerously intimate, the two of them eye-to-eye and their mutual admiration ridiculously conspicuous. Emmett would come back to that one later, he had a feeling. The third and last shot was the typical "say cheese" pose, but the smiles were dazed and relaxed, the kind of smile that hangs around your face at the end of a good laugh. Both their faces were aimed toward the camera, but their heads were angled toward each other, the invisible pull between them popping off the screen as clear as day.

There were no captions, just a simple "Thanks again for having us." Damn, the professor was succinct.

_He's being careful not to overstep, and you'd do well to follow his example._

**I think the first one is my favorite, **Emmett texted back. **And good morning and thx for the pics.**

**Mine too—my face is hidden and it's all you!**

Emmett shook his head at his shy friend. **Not what I meant. I love making people laugh.**

**Maybe you were a clown in a previous life and some tragedy befell your circus, hence your phobia.**

**Oh, I see. Did they teach psychology at math school? **

**Nope. Picked it up on the streets.**

An image of street-smart Edward hopped into Emmett's head and got cozy inside. Black leather bomber jacket with biker boots to match, the rough scruff of a couple days' growth on his face, a pair of dark sunglasses—no, scratch that. Emmett needed to see those eyes. And how about his hair? Emmett laughed out loud when he realized Edward's everyday crazy-hat-head hair would do the trick. Smiling like a fiend, Emmett texted, **And those would be the mean streets of Seattle?**

**No. Palo Alto.**

_Fuck me. _**You went to Stanford?**

**Just for my PhD. **

**Just. **Damn, this guy wasn't some run-of the-mill numbers geek; he was a brilliant one! **Wait, did we overlap in CA?**

**Yes, 2 years. You didn't appear on my radar until you signed with the Mariners. No offense, but I don't have time to follow college ball too.**

**Not offended.**

**Good. Also (full disclosure again) I may have gone back and watched some of your UCLA footage.**

**You did?**

**It's pretty cool to see your growth and progress over the years. The raw talent was always there, but what you've done with that as you've matured is what makes you a champion—IMHO.**

Emmett quickly googled IMHO. Yes, the man's opinions were humble, just like everything else about him. **That's very kind of you to say…write. **

**I call 'em how I see 'em.**

Yes, you do, my filter-free friend. **I'd have to credit my coaches for all that. I've truly been blessed.**

**Anything in particular you could share? I'm about to embark on a lifetime of teaching and I'd love to know what works.**

Well, there was something new and different. Lots of folks had asked Emmett about throwing technique or the care and keeping of a pitcher's overworked arm, but here was a man who wanted to understand how to help move a person forward to reach his potential. Warm, gooey ideas multiplied in Emmett's gut.

**I can only say what's worked for me. Not sure how it will translate to 6****th**** graders. (Please hold the snide remarks!)**

**Holding…**

Emmett smiled, and he imagined Edward doing the same.

**Hey, let's not forget you just complimented my maturity.**

**Um…not exactly. ;)**

**Whatever, dude.**

**So…coaching insights?**

Edward seemed genuinely interested. In that case, Emmett had a world of great coaching advice to share, too much for typing into a tiny box or limiting himself to short messages. Besides, Emmett was more than a little interested in turning this into a conversation with Edward, preferably over a steak dinner with a bottle of wine. _Damn!_ If only . . .

Emmett's fingers twitched over the touchpad. Did he dare? Why not? Who said they couldn't get together again—as friends? **Sure, I suppose I can share a few secrets of the trade. Should we grab a coffee when I get back from Cleveland? **

**WOW! REALLY?**

Oh, Edward. I'm eager to see you again, too. **Sure. How's Tuesday?**

**Hmm, let me see. Emmett McCarty wants to grab coffee. I'm pretty sure I can make myself available.**

Zero defenses. The flattery was heady, but bubbling up on its heels came a wistful yearning. Oh, to have Edward's ease, his freedom to unapologetically express his desires. Emmett had reached out and invited him for coffee, but a snarl of knots was already forming in his belly. What would happen if he decided to go for more? How could he not?

* * *

**Author's Note:** How could he NOT? Sounds to me like someone's got a second date! NOW KISS, right Shell? Heehee.

Thanks for all the love on the previous chapter. That was one of my two favorites in the story, and I've just finished writing my very VERY favorite, but you guys are going to have to wait a while for this one. Meanwhile, how did this story just top 50k, huh? I sure hope you like a lot of words! MWAH!

Love to my front office: Jayme, Shad, Lady V, Shell, sometimes Tammy *wink*, and always Chayasara.  
**XXX ~BOH**


	10. Chapter 10

**XXX CHAPTER 10 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Baseball is played without limitations of a game clock.**

Emmett was beyond pretending he didn't check his Twitter feed first thing in the morning. His friend Ed was either a night owl or an early riser, and Emmett's money was on the latter. Edward's tweets were the gateway drug, each little tidbit an invitation to a conversation Emmett was keen on having. And when they exhausted the topic of baseball—a feat Edward would probably assure him was impossible—there was always _Star Trek. _

With a light, post-pitching day ahead of him, Emmett pondered Edward's comment while he fixed his breakfast. _Hmm, maybe a couple of eggs today and an English muffin . . . _Relaxed and happy and in no rush, Emmett found himself humming as he spread the cherry jam across the nooks and crannies. Tucking his Oakleys behind his ears, Emmett filled his arms with his breakfast plate and a glass of juice, snagged his iPad from the counter, and set up his little slice of paradise at the table on the deck.

_Ahhh. _Life was sweet. Damn, he loved this place—a sentiment Emmett made sure he was unambiguous about with his agent. He'd grown up a Mariners fan and had every intention of staying right here as long as his arm held out.

He pierced the yolk and delivered a forkful of fried egg to his mouth, chasing it with a sweet, crunchy bite of muffin. _Kale smoothie, you just don't do this for me. _As he chewed, Emmett's gaze drifted to the empty chair beside his, a seat that had been occasionally filled in the past by a teammate or relative. Wouldn't it be nice if . . . _Oh, go on, you sap. You know you want to . . . _With a _you're-a-damn-fool-Emmett-McCarty_ shake of his head, he tapped open his pictures and selected the third one he and Edward had taken together.

A screeching seagull drew Emmett's attention out to the water below, and he was struck by an awful realization—a man afraid of heights might not exactly share Emmett's exuberance for his thirty-fifth-floor view. _Maybe we can work up to it somehow. _He'd ask Jasper's advice next time they talked.

_OH MY GOD! Seriously? _Emmett laughed out loud at the ridiculous leap he'd just taken. As if Edward Cullen would be visiting his penthouse any time soon—or ever. _Note to self:_ _See point (a) above, re: pitching career._

_Crap. _He shoveled in the rest of his ruined meal and allowed Edward's baseball tidbit of the day to overrun his own snarly thoughts.

**So you like those extra innings, eh?**

Only a beat or two separated Emmett's direct message from Edward's response. Emmett couldn't help picturing Edward sitting at his desk, sipping coffee, perhaps smiling while he typed. **As a spectator, yes. I'm guessing it's not so much fun as a player or closer.**

**Not so much. Or the starting pitcher waiting for the decision.**

**Fair enough. But even so, don't you think it's better than sudden death or worse—ending in a tie? What IS that?**

**I'm right with you there. I have no idea how grown men can battle for hours and settle for a draw. That would make me nuts. Damn char. limit**

**Ha! Maybe we should go back to our phones.**

**What about watching the debate you sparked? You know ESPN is retweeting your #whatilove posts?**

**Really? That's cool I guess.**

He really doesn't know and doesn't seem to care. **If you're not careful, you'll have color commentator job offers banging down your door!**

**[Dear readers, please insert a Facebook emoticon here for 2 straight-line eyes and a straight-line mouth]**

What the hell was that? Emmett didn't even know how to Google it. **Dude, I think your cat just walked across your keyboard.**

**Nope. That's my meh face. I have a job thx. And double meh to cats.**

**Agreed. I'd love to get a dog but it wouldn't be fair with all my travel.**

**Yeah, that'd be one lonely pup.**

**Not sure the team wives have it much better. **_Fuck! What the hell did I just do?_ Tick, tock, tick, tock . . . tick, tock.

The Twitter chat box had become their virtual Ouija board, fingertips balanced on the edges of the message indicator, the subconscious desires of two men sending the plastic disc on a treacherous ride across the game board. What would Edward's turn reveal?

**I'm sure the sacrifice is worth it.**

And there it was. Emmett guessed most people would agree. Looking in from the outside, the life of a baseball wife probably seemed glamorous and privileged, and indeed, in many ways it was. Fame and fortune and testosterone abounded, and that was all good for a while. For the ones who truly married for love—and Emmett would put that figure around fifty percent—surviving their husbands' road trips was certainly doable. Then again, the folks back home didn't know everything that went on when the boys took their show on the road, which was usually a very good thing. He felt for some of the wives, though, and he wondered if this was the deal they knew they'd signed up for. He loved his teammates in his own way, but Emmett didn't see most of them as marriage material, at least not now in the prime of their playing years. _And how about you, Big Mac? _

He shifted his gaze to the picture again, pictured the whole "Ward Cleaver-honey-I'm-home scene":  
_Edward, sitting at the table, looks up from grading a stack of papers, sets down his red pencil and smiles. "Hey."  
Emmett's duffel slides to the floor with a thud. "Hey."  
Edward stands. "You must be hungry. Can I heat up some leftovers?"  
Emmett crosses the room in three giant steps. "Nope,"—grabs Edward and kisses him hard—"I've got everything I need right here."_

Okay, that was a first. Emmett shook off the G-rated fantasy moment and attempted an answer. **I suppose with the right match, any sacrifice is worth it. **

He sent the message, sat back in his chair, and stared at what he'd just typed. And while he was marveling over what had just percolated from deep inside him, a word popped up on his screen.

**Agreed.**

XXX

Emmett was not a big fan of sharing a room or submitting to a curfew or being holed up in a hotel in downtown Cleveland, for that matter. Pet peeves aside, Fuller was a perfectly compatible roommate; the Renaissance wasn't bad, and Emmett understood the need for order and decorum. Not everyone on the team exercised self-discipline when left to his own devices.

"You ready to hit the breakfast buffet, Mac?" Fuller asked.

"Nah, I'll be down in a few," Emmett told him. "Go ahead without me."

"Need more time to put on your makeup?"

"Yes, and I have to pluck my eyebrows, so I might be a while."

"TMI, pal." Fuller chuckled and slid open the chain.

"Don't eat all the bacon."

"Must be nice to have a few days off."

"Yeah, thought I'd really let myself go. Maybe hit the Flats tonight for a couple pitchers of Buckeye IPA and start a bar fight or something . . ."

"Haha, okay. You do that. See ya downstairs."

The door clicked shut behind his teammate, and Emmett opened his Twitter account like a guy hiding a smoke from his wife. _Just one hit, and I'll go. _Sure enough, old reliable was waiting for him.

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The game can be enjoyed on the simplest or most complex level.**

_C'mon, Edward. Let's play. _**When's the last time you enjoyed the game on a simple level? Something tells me you've been keeping stats from day one.**

**Very true. I always score the Seattle games, but on Mariners' days off, I just watch and don't think too much. How about you?**

**Same answer, different reason. I try to have dinner at my sister's on our off days. Sawyer and I usually watch whatever game is on.**

**Ah, your nephew. Nothing like seeing things through the eyes of a child.**

They were getting dangerously close to puppies and wives again. **He's a great kid. He has this pure love for the game, totally unjaded. It's kind of beautiful.**

**I remember that feeling. Pre-steroids, corked bats, and Barry Bonds' balls.**

Emmett would've bet his last dollar that Edward was blushing big-time right now. **Yeah, growing up sucks.**

**Yes and no. Maybe I know more than I'd like about a few things, but overall, the integrity of the game is still intact. Still a proud fan.**

**Mr. Spock is getting all romantic again.**

**Romance is not entirely illogical, Captain. Survival of the species and all…**

_Good God! How did they always end up on quicksand? _Emmett sat with his fingers poised above the touchscreen, hoping something safe would pop into his head. Luckily, Edward took a second turn. **So how's my daily blitz of #whatilove working?**

**You mean aside from getting you job offers?**

**Yes. I mean how's it working for YOU? That is why I'm doing it. Remember?**

Emmett pictured Edward tugging on his hair, watching and waiting for an answer. He deserved something for all that effort.

**You might be starting to get to me.**

XXX

By the time Emmett got around to Monday's tweet, it was nearly time for Tuesday's. It bugged him that he felt guilty about not messaging Edward sooner, and it bugged him even more that he'd felt as if something had been missing all day. Not that Edward had ever asked for a response. No, this feeling of commitment—because let's be honest, that's exactly what it was—was coming from Emmett and Emmett alone.

He wasn't sure what to do with all that, but for starters, he headed straight to his desk when he returned home from the airport even though it was nearly one a.m.

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The game has a long and storied history, including desegregation before the rest of the world caught up. **

_Oh good, something light and breezy. _Emmett snickered and favorited the tweet. Though he strongly suspected Edward was sleeping, he went ahead and messaged him anyway.

**Score one for the Dodgers! Sadly, I think we still have room for progress where certain minorities are concerned.**

Before sending, Emmett read and reread his message. Too transparent? Did Edward already suspect that Emmett belonged to a certain "minority"? Would Edward press him on his meaning? Was Emmett ready for that conversation?

No, he decided, deleting the second sentence. **See you at Jimmy's at 8:30 a.m. **

There. Safe. Send.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Edward's starting to get to him. Understatement of the year right there! *wink*

_Why the heck is BOH posting today?_ you might be wondering. I'm celebrating a few things today. By any chance, have you seen the awesome rec **Rita01tx** wrote over at **Rob Attack** for _Benched_ and _Wild Pitch_? Every Friday, Rita makes someone's day/week/month, and last Friday, she surprised me with a most wonderful review of both stories, bringing me some new readers *HELLO, YOU GUYS!* and just generally making me happy as hell! Here's the link to the Friday Feature Fic for May 15, after you doctor it up a bit: (**robattack-dot-wordpress-dot-com**). MWAH, RITA!

Secondly, today is Mr. H's birthday. Now, I'm not saying that what he wants more than anything today is another chapter of _Wild Pitch_, but we're in a festive mood here!

And finally, but not at all leastly, YOU GUYS are blowing me away with your love for these boys. And while I'm not a 'you-review-and-I'll-post-more' kind of gal in general, I do have to let you know that your thoughtful, insightful, sometimes hilarious, and sweet as heck posts DO motivate me and make me want to share more and more of the story with you. So here ya go! And yes, if all goes according to plan, I will post another one on Friday.

ALSO, slightly off topic, here is an enthusiastic plug for the **Twific Meetup of 2015,** which will be held in **Philadelphia this June 25- 28** (or parts thereof). I will be there, participating in an author panel with some really talented ladies (some of you, in fact!) and possibly, maybe, if it works out, leading a little some'm some'm I'll tell you about when it comes together. After attending the regional meetup in NYC last summer, I'm a huge fan of these gatherings! I sure would love to meet you! If you are curious about the goings-on at such an event, message me or check out the TFMU 2015 blog: (**twificmeetup-dot-com**). After June 1, registration fees rise like a fanboy's shorts in a crowded locker room. *WINK*

**XOXO ~BOH**


	11. Chapter 11

**XXX CHAPTER 11 XXX**

Emmett glared down into his middle drawer, pondering which tee-shirt to wear far more scrupulously than he cared to admit. Five rejected choices later, he settled on a plain black tee—not his tightest—one he hoped would appear to have been chosen with extreme nonchalance. Thank Christ the jeans were at least easy, and the fact that they showed off his killer ass was no small factor in Emmett's choice. A simple black leather belt and his favorite low boots, and Emmett was ready for his first non-date with Edward.

A quick glance at the clock told Emmett he had ten minutes before he had to hit the road, and there was little doubt as to how he'd spend it.

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Hitting a baseball is the hardest single feat in all of sports.**

Good morning to you too, Edward, and thanks for the lay-up. Emmett was grinning while he typed his private reply. **That's what we pitchers like to call job security.**

Emmett wasn't necessarily expecting a response, especially since they were about to meet face-to-face. He scrolled through some of the retweets and replies. There were the predictable comments about the great hitters of all time, but Emmett was certain Edward's tweet was meant to bolster him. He had to admit—it was working.

Eager as hell and nearly as anxious, Emmett grabbed his shades and popped his phone, wallet, and keys into his pocket. _This is not a date,_ he reminded himself all the way to breakfast, though the stutter step his heart took when he walked in and saw Edward waiting for him would have indicated otherwise.

"Hey!" Emmett unleashed his smile because there was no way of holding it back while he extended his hand in greeting.

Edward pulled his right hand out of his pocket to return the gesture. Looking uncertainly between Emmett and the hostess, he said, "I felt kind of silly throwing your name around . . . so I figured I'd just wait."

"Oh, yeah, it's fine. They—"

"Mr. McCarty, right this way."

"—know you here." Edward finished Emmett's sentence with a shy smile.

Emmett shrugged and followed the hostess to a two-top tucked in an out-of-the-way corner with a view of the bay off in the distance. She set down their menus and did her best not to ogle the celebrity before leaving them.

"So, did you have a long ride in?" Emmett asked, hoping it didn't sound too much like, _Where the heck do you live anyway?_

"Not long. I just never know about traffic. I didn't want to keep you waiting."

Emmett chuckled and checked his watch. 8:20. "I guess we both had the same thought."

They awkward-smiled at each other, and Emmett picked up his menu, relieved to have something to occupy his hands and eyes. _What the hell happened to "easy"?_ he wondered. Emmett's right leg was bouncing a mile a minute under the table. _Coffee with a friend, coffee with a friend._

"What's good here?" Edward asked, perusing his menu.

"How hungry are you?"

"Eight out of ten."

Emmett cracked a smile because Edward didn't. "Hmm, if you'd said 'nine,' I would've definitely said to go for the slugger's breakfast, but for an eight, I'd have to say pancakes or French toast."

Edward looked up from his menu and acknowledged the gentle teasing with a little huff. "It's not something I can turn off," he said, "even when I want to."

_"_You shouldn't. It's"—_fucking adorable_—"who you are."

"Coffee, boys?"

"Decaf," Edward answered, concentrating on the liquid flowing into his mug.

"Just water for me, please."

"Of course. I'll be right back to take your orders."

Setting aside his menu, Edward asked, "So, how was Cleveland? I've always wanted to get out there and see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame."

"Yeah, I'd love to see that too. Not exactly on the team itinerary."

"They don't let you guys out to have any fun?"

"We're not getting paid to have fun," Emmett answered, adding, "though some of the guys do manage." Emmett rolled his eyes, remembering Fuller's out-of-breath return to their room just before curfew the last night.

"But not you?" Edward was looking at him with those you're-my-hero eyes again. Would he feel that way if he knew the truth about Emmett—that what kept him in his hotel room at night wasn't some strict adherence to the moral code nearly as much as fear of being caught violating the rules with the wrong person.

"Nah, that's not really my scene."

The waiter came back to take their order. Edward smirked as he ordered the French toast, causing Emmett to chuckle out loud.

"Make that two," Emmett said. "And two sides of fruit."

"Are you sure you're not a nine?" Edward asked. Each private joke was a new thread of intimacy weaving the two of them together a little bit tighter. They were still grinning at each other when the waiter walked away.

"Speaking of nines," Emmett said, "where's my number?"

"Huh?"

"My jersey. It's still baseball season, right?" With his brilliant justification on the table, Emmett allowed himself a nice, long stare at Edward's chest. A striped, short-sleeved button-down with a white tee underneath allowed just a hint of chest hair to peek out at the neck.

Edward followed Emmett's gaze, tipping his chin forward to check what he was wearing. "Oh." His voice had a wistful note, as if he'd really let Emmett down.

"Edward, I was kidding."

"No, I had it on," he said, wringing his hands, "but then I figured maybe it'd be a bit much. Plus, I guessed you might not want to be a spectacle every time you go out to get a bite to eat."

Emmett resisted the urge to reach over and settle Edward's hands. "You were right, and that was really thoughtful of you." Edward looked so relieved that Emmett loosened the tight grip he'd been holding on his words. "I never really thanked you for being so cool about everything. You know, keeping things . . ." Emmett gestured back and forth between the two of them.

"Private?"

The word sounded way naughtier than it needed to, like a secret whispered in bed. And of course, the food picked that moment to arrive. They both sank back to make room for the overflowing platters and syrup and fruit cups.

"Do you need anything else here?" the waiter asked.

Emmett waited for Edward's head shake before answering. "Nope, we're all good."

Edward picked up the syrup jar and drizzled a neat, symmetrical trail up and down the top piece of toast before slicing into it. His eyes rolled back in his head as the first taste hit his tongue. "Ohmygod."

"Told ya," Emmett said with a chuckle.

"Something tells me you can't eat like this very often," Edward said.

"It would probably shift my center of gravity."

Edward's gaze dropped as far down Emmett's body as he could see across the table, and his chewing slowed for a second. "That'd be bad, right?"

Emmett was smirking, but he couldn't help it. "I would think so."

"Yeah, you probably don't want to tamper with perfection. I mean, your pitching . . . gravity . . . all those ratios." The guy was beet red now, stuffing a huge piece of bread into his mouth to shut himself up.

"Right." Emmett searched for a topic that might offer Edward a little bit of relief, something not related to Emmett's body or celebrity or perfection. "So I've been giving some thought to your question about my coaches."

Edward wiped his mouth and gave Emmett a grateful nod. "Yeah, I'd love to hear whatever insights you have—advice that helped, maybe some that didn't?"

"Sure. I want to say first that my parents were incredibly supportive right from the start. It wasn't easy dealing with a kid who was determined to be a major league pitcher when he was seven years old. My head and my body weren't always on the same page, and that got to be frustrating at times. Believe it or not, I was a bit of a hothead growing up."

Edward sipped at his coffee. "What great champion ever lacked passion?"

Emmett chuffed. "Well, passion and temper tantrums are fairly indistinguishable at that age. Anyway, Mom and Dad both had their turns dealing with the tears and the hissy fits. Without their patience, I would never have made it through."

"So this drive to be a pitcher didn't come from them at all?"

"No. My dad would play catch with me in the yard when he came home from work; that was about it. He wasn't a baseball fanatic or anything. They didn't really care what I chose to do; they just wanted me to know I could do anything I set my mind to. I don't think they were expecting me to set my mind to something so improbable at such an early age, but they were good sports about it. Later, when scouts started coming around the high school, my folks made me promise to go to college. After that, they said, it was up to me. UCLA made me an offer I couldn't refuse, and the decision was pretty easy."

"That worked out pretty well—for you and for UCLA."

"It was a nice fit," Emmett replied, breaking a strip of bacon in half and bringing it to his mouth.

"So your earliest coaches, if you can even remember, what were they telling you?"

"Mostly they were telling me to stop being so hard on myself and my teammates. Nobody was taking things seriously, and it pissed me off no end."

"Oh."

"Yeah, imagine a third grader not understanding that defending first base is a life-and-death situation."

"Yikes."

"Exactly. Looking back, I'd say ninety percent of the coaching I received was on my mental game, how to live with the reality of imperfection without losing the fire to be the best. You probably know the odds better than I do. There are only so many spots at the top for all those kids who share the pipe dream. It's pretty cruel to encourage a kid to keep dreaming, don't you think?"

Edward stared down the trick question for a few quiet moments before offering an answer. "Maybe what separates a great coach from the rest is the ability to recognize the champion when he's standing in front of him, even at age seven."

Emmett smiled. "I was a champion at age seven?"

"Sure. You were born with something special, and I don't just mean the physical gift. You can prune a bonsai tree into any shape you want, but you can't turn a pine into a bonsai. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean. I had one coach in high school who was determined to make me a left-handed pitcher." Emmett lifted his left hand onto the table, examining it as if it belonged to someone else. "I couldn't control it at all. By the way, he goes into the 'things that didn't work' category. I'm all for working on weaknesses, but at some point, we have to accept who we are and build on the strengths."

"Yep."

Something about the way Edward offered his understanding on the topic made Emmett suspect there was something more than empathy behind it. "Did someone try to prune you into a bonsai?"

Edward met Emmett's eyes with a flash of surprise. "Me?"

_Oh, Edward, did you think I wasn't going to get to know you too? _"Yes, you . . . if you feel like sharing."

"It's not quite as dramatic as your story, I'm sure, but there were a few well-meaning teachers who tried to fit me into a round hole."

_"Whaaat?"_ Emmett choked on the honeydew ball he had half-swallowed and snatched up his napkin before things went flying.

"Shit! Are you okay? Here, drink some water . . ." Edward sputtered and perched at the edge of his seat, ready to spring. "Oh God, do you need a Heimlich?"

Emmett held out his hand while he sipped his water. "I'm fine." Edward's words replayed in Emmett's head, and his smile broke out again. "What the hell did you just say about a round hole?"

Edward put two and two together and blushed like a fiend. "I was a square peg. That's what I meant. Not . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head and hiding behind his napkin.

"Got it. So what holes did they try to get you to fill?" He snorted at the imagery, and Edward rolled his eyes.

"Oh, let's see . . . violin, bassoon, soccer, drama . . . Is that enough?"

Emmett was flat-out laughing now. "Can we go back to bassoon for a second, please?"

"No." More head-shaking and eye-rolling followed. "I can't believe I even told you that."

Had they been walking together, Emmett would've thrown his arm around Edward's shoulders and given him a little squeeze. As they were seated across from each other and they hadn't exactly reached that level of familiarity yet, Emmett settled for reaching over and giving Edward's arm a casual pat. "Aw, c'mon. You know pretty much everything about me. It's only fair I get you to spill a few details about your life."

Glancing at Emmett's hand on his arm, Edward blushed all over again, but he didn't pull away. "There's really not that much to tell."

The smile faded from Emmett's face. "You just think that because you already know all the good stuff."

"Whatever."

Emmett eased his hand away from Edward. "That does beg the question though."

Stabbing another forkful of syrupy toast, Edward asked, "Which question is that?" before bringing the food to his mouth.

"Where did your square peg fit?"

The fork stopped in midair; chewing ceased; a flare of the nostrils gave him away. "Excuse me?"

Emmett's smirk was back in full force. So he wasn't the only one with a dirty mind at this table. "What _were _you suited for? Which activities interested you? What's your square hole?"

"Okay, I think I'm done with this metaphor now."

_Damn, he was fun._ "Fine, but I'd still love to know."

Edward washed down the rest of his mouthful with a pull on his coffee mug. "Not to brag or anything—"

"Come on, I asked you! That doesn't count."

"I'm fairly decent at chess."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least." Smart, thoughtful, thinking ten steps ahead . . . yes, that sounded like the professor.

Edward grinned, soaking in Emmett's compliment for once, which made Emmett want to get up and dance. "Exactly how decent are we talking?"

With a wave of his hand, Edward dismissed what was most likely a pretty spectacular record. "Went to Nationals a few times in high school."

"Wow! That's amazing! I mean, it sounds amazing. I don't know squat about chess tournaments."

"It was a cool experience."

"Anything else you don't want to tell me about?"

Edward chuckled. "Yeah, a mediocre career in long-distance running."

"Huh."

"What's 'huh'?"

Emmett grinned and ran his fingers across his lips. "I love running, but I've always been more of a sprinter than a marathoner. And you just reminded me of some of the best coaching advice I ever received."

Edward smiled back, looking quite pleased. "What was that?"

"I'm not great at pacing myself. In college, I was especially poor at conserving energy—both physical and emotional. I'd come out fighting and burn my arm out too soon, so they always had to take me out early until I learned to save something for the long haul."

"Don't you think part of that is a factor of youth? Bravado?"

"Probably, but I also think it's just who I am. I'm not great at holding back. What are you grinning about over there?"

"Just about the fact that I'm the complete opposite. Our track coach was always trying to light a fire under me."

"That is pretty amusing. But you don't exactly strike me as the unmotivated type. Hell, you've earned a PhD at . . . what? Twenty-eight?"

"Yeah, talk about a marathon."

"Better you than me, pal."

Edward gave him a knowing nod. "Hey, if you ever need a running partner to slow you down, I'm your man." _Now, there was an idea! _But Edward was already backpedaling with a palm to his forehead. "What the hell am I talking about? You have a whole team of running partners and a staff of coaches to pace you and time you and—"

"I would love to run with you sometime, Edward."

Again, that incredulous smile graced his face. He looked like he wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "Really? That'd be awesome."

"You mind running along the beach? You don't have any water phobias you haven't told me about, do you?"

"Nope. I think I'll be all right, assuming I can keep up with you."

"Don't worry; I'm flexible." The innuendos were piling up so fast, Emmett couldn't keep track. And through it all, Edward put out this innocent vibe that drove Emmett absolutely wild. He had no idea if the guy had the slightest clue what he was doing to him. What Emmett did know was that he wanted to see Edward again, the sooner the better.

He handed his Amex to the waiter before Edward could even reach for his wallet.

"Hey! I asked you for your advice on coaching."

"Yeah, but I asked you to meet me for coffee."

"Fine, you pay for my coffee!"

Neither of them was stating the obvious, that Emmett was pulling down an eight-figure salary and Edward was a pre-employed math teacher, albeit in a posh private school, not to mention the breakfast was all of forty bucks, hardly worth the argument.

"Tell you what," Emmett said, "the next meal's on you."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh, I think that's a very good idea. That means...ANOTHER non-DATE! I hope you guys enjoyed this one. I stole a couple of square holes from my life with three brothers. The bassoon was really THE WORST IDEA EVER!

What did you think of Emmett's coaching advice? What's the best tip you've ever received? I'd love to hear. I might even steal it! *wink* I'm traveling this weekend so I'll catch up when I can, but please know I read and thoroughly enjoy every review. MWAH!  
**XXX ~BOH**


	12. Chapter 12

**XXX CHAPTER 12 XXX**

Emmett shouldn't have been surprised to see the following morning's tweet.

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Individual excellence is celebrated, but team chemistry and coaching impact the results.**

He didn't want to ignore it—or Edward, especially after their breakfast yesterday—but he also didn't want to get off track. **As you will impact those young minds. Sorry, keeping it brief today—pitching.**

**I know. We'll be rooting for you from behind the first base coach about halfway up main concourse.**

_Fuck. _Hello, distraction.

The damage was done. Emmett had already located Edward and Carlisle's seats in his mind's eye, somewhere around ten o'clock from the mound, far enough away that Emmett would have to sift through a sea of heads but close enough to be recognizable. Damn him.

The more Emmett tried not to think about it during his ride over to the stadium, the firmer the image locked itself in place. Once the gates opened and the fans started to filter in, Emmett was aware of a constant, nagging desire to watch that section of the stands. He imagined Edward and Carlisle to be the types to arrive at least an hour early and enjoy a hot dog while the players stretched and tossed the ball around.

As it turned out, the Cullens' arrival at T minus 50 minutes wasn't an event Emmett had any chance of missing—though he was trying mightily. Stretching and listening hard to his body, Emmett recognized the tiny hairs at the back of his neck pricking up like a bloodhound catching a scent. Emmett poked his head out and scanned the stands behind first base as if pulled by a giant magnet to the spot where Edward and his dad were climbing the steps. Morbid curiosity kicked in, leaving Emmett unable to look away while they took their seats. So much for blissful ignorance.

He sighed heavily and snapped into his pre-game routine, starting with a jog in place to get his heart pumping. Reviewing Coach Waits' advice from their session in Cleveland, Emmett set his concentration on the field and on the Tigers' batters. Martinez and Cabrera were dangerous on a good day, and if Emmett were to let down his guard even for a split second, either of them could be disastrous.

With a half hour to go before the first pitch, Emmett started warming up his arm. _Easy does it,_ he reminded himself with each wrist flick and figure eight. He was itching for that ball and a chance to do something with it. The extension felt good, the familiar buzz rolling through him, the warmth of his muscles heating up to do their job.

As he pulled away to long mound length, Emmett let it go, ripping a fastball to his warmup catcher.

"Somebody piss you off?"

_Whoa. _"No. Sorry."

Dominguez grinned back at him. "No problem, man. I can catch whatever you wanna throw."

Wise ass. Emmett glanced over at his coach, who was watching him carefully. He didn't need to remind himself there was more at stake here than impressing his little crush, but that only made him more frustrated and tense. He cared too much, and that wasn't a situation he could talk himself out of. Stepping back into his routine, Emmett threw the rest of his practice pitches, tucked a wad of chaw against his gums, and lined up with his team for the national anthem.

The Mariners jogged out to the field, and Emmett loosened up again with a few pitches to Black. When the Tigers' first batter stepped into the batter box, a blast of adrenaline assaulted Emmett's system. Laser-focused on Black's signals and delivering the ball to home plate, the spectators were the farthest thing from Emmett's mind. He threw two fastballs Hunter couldn't touch and a curveball he popped to Seaver for the easy out.

A growing chant of "Mac, Mac, Mac" picked up momentum. Easing into his game, Emmett pulled off two sliders in a row, giving the second batter no chance and finishing him off with a fastball strike. In the third spot, Cabrera crouched over the plate, and Emmett beamed him his best _I am ready for you, motherfucker _glare_._ Black gave the signal, and Emmett snapped a curveball in for a foul tip. Bolstered by his success, Emmett shook off the next signal for a changeup and threw in another curve, frustrating the hell out of the batter and drawing the second strike. Hoping to trip up Cabrera, Emmett threw a wide breaking ball, his first ball of the night. Black called for the slider, and Emmett drew another strike to end the inning.

The crowd rose to their feet, chanting his name and cheering. On the jog back to the dugout, Emmett allowed himself one quick peek into the stands. Edward lifted his cap and waved it madly around his head.

_Nobody else will ever know,_ Emmett told himself. Pausing for a split second before descending into the dugout, Emmett lifted his head and pinched the bill of his cap in Edward's direction.

XXX

"Where's your shoulder pain, one to ten?" Waits asked.

"Four, maybe five. Nothing I can't ride out to the seventh inning."

The coach ran his fingers across his lips, giving Emmett a hard stare and nowhere to hide. "Hmm, your pitch count's low, but you've been riding that curveball hard tonight. We need to lay off a bit, or I'm going to have to take you out. You hearing me too, Black?"

The catcher nodded and shot Emmett a sympathetic shrug. The game was tied at one-all, and a no-decision sucked, especially when he'd pitched so brilliantly.

_The curveball was working_, Emmett wanted to say, but Waits already knew that. "Sure, Coach."

"Don't mess with that shoulder, Mac. You let me know if the pain gets worse."

"I promise."

Narrowing his eyes, the coach made up his mind. "Don't fuck with me. Trey will make sopranos of us both."

"I'd probably forget about the pain in my arm if he cut off my balls."

Waits cracked a smile for the first time all night, but Emmett knew better than to take his threat lightly. He was pushing it, and they both knew it. Tucking a small wad of chaw inside his lower lip, Emmett forced the pain to the back of his thoughts. Mind over matter. Just like when the scouts were watching. He had five days to heal before he pitched again; Emmett was going to make the most of this outing.

The coach allowed Emmett fifteen more pitches before pulling him out in the sixth inning. "You put on a great show tonight, kid, but I can't let you throw another ball."

Emmett knew better than to try to change his mind. The crowd gave him an ovation as he jogged to the dugout. The cameras were on him, and he kept his eyes on the grass. His shoulder needed icing in the worst way, but it was bad form to head in while your reliever was still pitching out the inning, and he couldn't afford to raise suspicion. Emmett gutted it out, jogging into the locker room as nonchalantly as possible when they made the third out.

XXX

It wasn't until the next morning, when he woke up cranky and sore, that Emmett noticed the stream of messages Edward had left him the night before, a downward spiral of anxiety Emmett probably wasn't in the best frame of mind to respond to right now.

**You pitched a tough game. Sometimes stats don't tell the story.**

**You looked like you were in serious pain out there toward the end. You okay?**

**Sorry, hope I haven't overstepped. And overmessaged.**

Ugh.

He popped a few Advil and threw together a smoothie, then took his jumbled thoughts and battered body out to the deck. Tipping his face to the sun, Emmett drew the beach air into his lungs. _A run would do me some good _was quickly followed by, _Yeah, no fucking way. _He wasn't in a good place, and he didn't feel like doing a damn thing about it. He sure as hell didn't feel like showing up for practice today even though Coach would only have him stretch, but that was a red flag he wasn't about to wave.

Tammy would lovingly cajole him—"You better snap out of this mood before the party Saturday night"—but he wasn't quite ready for her cheering. Jasper would do that thing where he read between the lines, and Emmett wasn't ready to reveal what he was sure the good doctor would find. Mom and Dad would serve Emmett the usual chicken soup for the son's soul, but they wouldn't really get it, and that would leave him feeling worse and guilty for worrying them.

His options fell away one by one, leaving one glaring, obvious choice. Heavy sigh. That giant "S" he'd been wearing lately was starting to feel pretty damn good on Emmett's chest. Was he prepared to step back into the phone booth and cover up his superhero costume with a pair of nerdy glasses? Could Emmett let his ardent admirer in on his secret—that he was human after all?

_Easy does it, _Emmett cautioned himself as he dropped into the desk chair. Right, that advice wasn't working too well lately.

**Thank you for the concern, and don't worry about overstepping. You're fine.**

No response. _Huh_. Come to think of it, where was Edward's morning tweet?

**Hey! Where's my daily inspiration? Just when I needed one…**

Silence.

A cold shiver ran down Emmett's spine. How easily tested their connection was, how fragile. How very much Emmett had taken for granted that his fanatic fan would always be so. Was he truly that easily scared off?

Emmett clicked on Edward's profile, taking comfort in the fact that the "Big Mac attack" was still Edward's picture of choice. A haunted voice inside him argued otherwise. _Apathy would produce the same result._

_I don't have time for the drama queen routine today. _More pissed off than before, Emmett changed into his running gear and hit the beach. Punishing the ground beneath him, he ran out his frustration, forcing his thoughts into a tight, manageable box. Sweat flew off him as he pushed himself until his burning lungs said "No more." He showered and grabbed his duffel, giving his computer an icy glare as he passed it on the way out.

* * *

**Author's Note:** What? What did the computer do? Aww, a little trouble in paradise? Poor, frustrated Mac. :(

I figured you'd rather have the new chapter even though I haven't had a chance to answer my reviews from chapter 11 yet. Honestly, I've been working on the juicy part of the story for you guys, and I think you'll forgive me when you get there! Meanwhile, I WILL most definitely get to ALL the reviews, so let me know how you're feeling!  
**XXX ~BOH**


	13. Chapter 13

**XXX CHAPTER 13 XXX**

The elevator ride was too long not to pull out his phone. His heart took an unauthorized hop at the five text messages waiting for him and plummeted when not one turned out to be from Edward. When had Edward ever contacted him first? Never, that's when.

Trey was waiting for him in the gym, and Emmett had never been happier to feel the crack of his trainer's whip. The hateful lunges produced a welcome burn, and Emmett hit the ladder with a gusto he had only faked before today. His kicks were higher, crunches were tighter, and squats were deeper than he could remember achieving in the past.

Huffing his way through the elastic band stretched around his shoulders, Emmett faced Trey's stern glare.

"Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

"No!"

Hands on hips, Trey was clearly in his no-bullshit zone. "Breathe, and ease up."

A choppy breath escaped Emmett as the tension maintained its iron grip.

"Would you care to try again?"

He could try all day, but Emmett knew it wouldn't get any better. Loosening his tight grasp of the k-band, he shook his head. "Sorry."

Trey softened. "C'mon over to the table. Let me have a turn."

Emmett kicked off his sneakers and socks, peeled off his sweaty shirt, stretched out face-up on the massage table, and folded his arms behind his head. Trey started at the bottom, pressing his thumbs into the balls of Emmett's feet with a fervor that had matched Emmett's.

"Let it go, Mac."

There was no hiding from Trey; Emmett was convinced the man could see the oxygen pumping inside his veins. "I'm trying."

_Knead, push, poke. _"Are you? How about unclenching your teeth?"

_Now that he mentioned it . . . _Emmett wiggled his jaw free as Trey kept a close eye on him.

"Better. Did you run this morning?"

"Yeah."

"Did it help?"

Emmett chuffed. "Sadly, yes. Would you believe I was worse before?"

Trey shook his head. "Jesus, man. You want to talk about it?"

"Nah. How about if you just continue with the exorcism?"

"Sure thing. Just prepare yourself for the deep dive. I can't wait to see what your hamstrings have in store for me."

Chuckling, Emmett responded. "I'm sure the feeling is mutual."

An hour later, Emmett rolled off the table into his trainer's steadying grasp. "Thanks for the abuse, man."

"Any time," Trey answered, handing him a cup of water. "You know there's nobody I'd rather abuse than you."

"Aw, I bet you say that to all the boys."

"No, actually I don't."

Woozy and dehydrated, Emmett glanced at Trey, surprised to see that the man was dead serious and completely matter-of-fact about it. _Okay, then._

Stepping right up in Emmett's face, Trey elaborated. "I know genius when I see it, and you've got it, Mac."

A hot flush came over Emmett, and he dipped his chin to the floor, but Trey wasn't deterred.

"I'm not telling you this to massage your ego," he said, laughing at his own unintended joke. "Probably the only body part I didn't pound on just now. I'm telling you because I want to help keep you on top. It's a rare thrill to work with someone like you, and that's why I crawl all over your ass when I see you pushing yourself too hard. I'm selfish, Mac. I want to be on this happy ride with you for a good, long time. You don't want to tell me what's going on? That's fine. I'm your trainer, not your shrink. But please, whatever it is, work it out . . . without hurting yourself. Okay?"

Trey gave Emmett's shoulder a gentle squeeze and left him alone to ponder the advice. Emmett's muscles may have been untangled, but the same did not hold true for his thoughts. A long, hot shower gave him a chance to at least quiet his mind, if not sift through the mad snarl. He was smart enough to know that emotions set aside weren't neutralized for good, but he'd take the short-term peace for now and deal with the rest later.

XXX

Chicken parmigiana from Arturo's . . . _check_! _Wolf of Wall Street_ on demand . . . _check_! A pair of Bud bottles lined up on the coffee table with the rest of the six-pack stored away in the fridge just in case . . . _check_! Emmett loved it when a good plan came together, so why was he about to sabotage his evening by checking his damn Twitter?

An exasperated groan turned into a relieved sigh as the familiar hash tag appeared on his screen.

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball You can steal a base, but you risk losing everything—just like life.**

_Okay, maybe the relief was a bit premature. _ At least Edward was here, and Emmett was hoping to keep it that way. And for now, he made a little deal with himself not to probe into why his ever reliable fan was MIA this morning, especially since Emmett already had a strong suspicion it had to do with being ignored last night.

Sidestepping the obvious interpretation, Emmett sent a response. **What do you think it says about our game that cheating is built into the rules?**

**Taking the ethics out of it leaves the player with a pure risk-reward problem. **The professor was back on solid ground, hiding behind his numbers.

**I don't have to face down too many moral dilemmas on the mound, thank goodness.**

**Nor will I in the classroom.**

**The Police might disagree**, Emmett typed back, his heart already lighter than it had been all day.

**Not too worried about my sixth graders.**

Emmett twisted off the bottle cap and settled in at his desk. **Don't be so quick to dismiss the crush.**

**I don't think I'm the type to inspire such things.**

Oh, Professor, you are so wrong about that. **Whatever you say. **Emmett stayed in that "Don't Stand So Close To Me" moment, placing himself in Edward's classroom, staying after class for private tutoring, teasing and flirting with his shy professor . . .

**How's your arm tonight?**

Hello, abrupt topic shift. **I'm good. Trey beat me up on the table.**

**I'll bet. You threw your heart out last night. **

**Gave it my best shot.**

**Tough luck about the no decision.**

**That's the way it goes sometimes.**

**You mind if I'm honest with you about something?**

In Emmett's experience, when a person asks that question, you really have no choice but to hold your breath and take your lumps. **I'd mind more if you weren't honest about everything.**

**Okay. Dad was pretty upset during last night's game and asked me to say something to you.**

Dad, huh? **About my pitching?**

**No! About the snuff. It's really, really bad for you.**

**Tell the good doctor I'm aware and thanks for the concern. **The pause that followed Emmett's message caused him to reread and rethink his hasty answer. He had to hand it to the guy; it took a serious set of balls to bring up such a touchy topic.

Emmett pictured the scene that might have played out in the stands while he'd stuffed his lip with chaw: Carlisle, compassionate doctor and devoted fan, shaking his head, tsk-tsking to his son, muttering about mouth cancers and gum surgery, and finally dropping the gauntlet. "Do you think he'd listen if you said something?" Edward, cautious new friend to the pitcher, firmly wedged between a rock and a hard place, seemingly rebuffed by his first show of concern after the game, gun-shy about plunging in deeper, finally pulls the trigger only to receive what probably looks like a flip response.

_You're an asshole, Mac. Hashtag MacHole. _Swallowing a chunk of pride along with a swig of Bud, Emmett sent a new message: **Sometimes I wish Twitter had an erase button.**

Without delay, Edward responded. **I know the feeling.**

**I appreciate the honesty. Your father isn't the first—or only—to harp on me. **

**Remember when Dad asked to meet your team doc? He made up that line about wanting to thank him. He was planning on reaming him out!**

**No shit? About the chaw?**

**Yes!**

**Wow.**

**Yeah. I was afraid he was going to go off on you directly, but I'd made him swear he wouldn't.**

**Thanks.**

**Don't thank me. I kind of wish I'd let him. He might've convinced you in person. **

Edward beating himself up over Emmett's terrible, disgusting, embarrassing habit was more than he could handle. **It's not like I don't know I shouldn't. I only dip when I'm especially stressed on the mound, not every game.**

**God knows I couldn't handle that kind of pressure. Isn't there anything else you can do though?**

**What do you suggest? Lavender-scented candles? Stuffed animal? Quick bubble bath between innings?**

**I was thinking along the lines of chocolate. **

**There you go again trying to make me fat.**

**Fair enough. Squeeze ball?**

**Don't mess with the hands!**

**Gum? Sunflower seeds? Meditation? Yoga?**

Emmett had to chuckle. The guy was trying; he'd give him that. **Tell Carlisle he has been heard, but there will be no downward dog in the dugout.**

**Fine. Shutting up now.**

**You know, the average stolen base percentage for the league is around 75%.**

**72.4. What's your point? **

**Don't stop telling me the truth just because I'm an asshole when you do. **

**You weren't that bad. It was worth it, but telling you only gets me to second base. **

**Now you're getting greedy.** And there was no denying Emmett liked it, judging by the grin on his face.

**Speaking of greed, which should I claim first—the run or the meal you promised I could buy?**

**If you're game, meet me at Alki Beach Sunday morning at 8:30.**

* * *

**Author's Note**: All is well.

I have to admit, many of the review comments on chapter 12 surprised me, which usually means my writing wasn't quite as clear as I'd intended. I realize you're getting everything filtered through Emmett's perceptions, but I was surprised I'd left people believing that Edward was either angry or spiteful about Emmett not replying to his comments. In my mind, Edward was anxious that he'd overfanboyed since Emmett didn't respond, and he was shying away until he heard from Emmett. Lord knows, I've been in that position before. You open the chat box and see that you were the one who sent the last...3 messages *YIKES*...and maybe that person kind of wished you'd just leave him alone? It's a horrible feeling, and the best you can do is shut down the computer and pretend it didn't happen. Also, the chaw- yes, it is gross but yes, Emmett did it in _Benched, _so here we are seeing the origins of that and imagining how father and son would've responded.

Anybody else having Police fantasies? Have you seen the sexy math teacher-slash-underwear model? Oh holy shit! Links posted with this chapter update in the patch. See you there!  
**XXX ~BOH**


	14. Chapter 14

**XXX CHAPTER 14 XXX**

"Why, Tammy Lutz, aren't you looking especially gorgeous tonight! Teal becomes you."

Tammy rolled her eyes. "Someone had to show a little team spirit."

Opening the passenger door for her, Emmett chuckled. "I keep telling them they need some cheerleaders. Nobody listens to the pitcher."

"Did you happen to tell them you wanted boys in tight pants?" she asked, buckling herself in.

"I did not." The image stuck with Emmett as he walked around his car to the driver's side. As if he needed further distractions on the field.

Tammy shifted to face him as they pulled onto Thistle. "So? What's new with your not-so-secret admirer?"

"You're not wasting any time, I see," he answered with a grin.

"I didn't really think you'd appreciate my asking in front of five hundred of your closest friends, and judging by that smile on your face, I'd say it's a good thing I didn't."

"Ugh, is it that bad?"

"Let's put it this way: if that smile were for me, we wouldn't be arriving at the gala before dessert."

He shook his head. "Do you ever think of anything besides sex?"

Tammy's face scrunched into an endearing scowl. "Please! Have you looked in a mirror tonight?"

"Just to tie my tie. Do you have any idea how hard these motherfuckers are to tie?"

"Maybe you need a partner to help get you dressed."

_Oh, yes._ Edward standing behind him at the mirror, reaching around and tying his bowtie. "That wouldn't have been my first fantasy, but it's not a bad visual."

"You're welcome," she said, rolling her eyes. "I have plenty more where that came from if you need any help."

Emmett barked out a sharp laugh. "Good to know, but so far, I've got this covered." He stared out at the road and let his mind finish the scene he'd started. Edward's hands on Emmett's shoulders, admiring his handiwork; Emmett spinning around, catching Edward by surprise with a kiss; fighting the urge to tear off each other's clothes again . . .

"Oh, good God," Tammy said, adding a groan for effect.

"When did you go to mind-reading school?"

"You're really not that much of a challenge lately."

Turning the car onto I-5, Emmett glanced over at his friend. What was it with the people in his life lately? Or had he just become completely transparent? "Edward and I had breakfast the other day."

Her jaw dropped. "As in, _afterward?_"

"No! Jeez! We're just getting to know each other as friends. I don't even know for sure he's gay, and I have no idea what the hell he thinks I am."

"He thinks you're perfect." Tammy fluttered her eyelids for effect.

Emmett chuffed. "We all know there's only one way to go from there."

"Okay, whatever. I know you pretty damn well, and I still think you're perfect."

"You're not normal."

"Clearly. So, what's he like?"

"He's smart, kind of quiet, but he's no pushover. When he has something to say, he says it."

"Oh yeah? What's he have to say?"

"Pshh, well for one thing, his father the _doctor_ thinks I should stop dipping."

Tammy's face lit up with a smile. "Amen to that!"

A grin crossed his lips as he remembered their conversation. "He suggested yoga instead."

Tammy covered her mouth with a cupped hand.

"Right. As if." Emmett shook his head. "Pain in the ass."

"Uh huh. So, when are you seeing him again?"

A sigh bubbled up. "We're running together tomorrow morning."

"Nice."

"I guess." He was looking forward to that run more than he cared to admit to either of them.

"You gonna tell me what this guy looks like, or do I need to show up at the beach in my sneakers tomorrow?"

"Ha! Now that's funny!" Emmett wriggled in his seat until he could reach his phone, pulled it out, and handed it to Tammy. "Here. Special sauce, upper case 'L.'"

"Cute." She typed in his password, twisting toward the window in her seat as if he might change his mind and take back the offer. "He's not your screensaver?"

"Not just yet." Emmett rolled his eyes. "The pictures are in the text messages."

"Edward Cullen?" The name rolled off her tongue with a teasing lilt.

"That's him." Emmett couldn't help the jolt he felt as Tammy scrolled through and feasted on the pictures. The urge to peek at the screen was nearly overpowering, but by now, Emmett had enough of a visual in his mind's eye to sustain him until he could look at the pictures without being mocked.

"He's really cute." She had enlarged the one of the two of them facing each other. "Uh, Em . . . I don't think you need to wonder if he wants you."

Try as he might, Emmett could not contain his smile. "Yeah?"

"Trust me. I'm somewhat of an expert on this topic."

"Okay, Tam."

Tammy reached out and rubbed his arm. "Hey," she said softly, "is it time for us to break up?"

Perfect timing; they were just pulling up to the valet drop-off. Emmett turned to face her, taking her hand in his as she handed him back his phone. "You know that is always up to you, Tammy. As far as I'm concerned, nothing's really changed—especially in the public's eye."

"Why don't we see how things go?"

XXX

"Hottie at three o'clock," Tammy whispered as Emmett took the last bite of his salad.

He played along, but the sense of excitement was quite obviously missing, not to mention broad and brawny was more Tammy's type than his. "Pass," he said quietly. "Plus, he looks extremely straight."

"He's coming over here," she said. "Be charming, please."

Emmett wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. "When am I not charming?"

The stranger approached, already apologizing as Emmett stood. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner. You guys probably go home starving from these things."

"No problem; they'll give me a doggy bag. Emmett McCarty. Nice to meet you . . .?"

"James Carson. Pitching for the Generals this year. We met at spring training?"

"Oh, sure, yeah," Emmett said. "Your team's doing well this year."

Tammy cleared her throat, and Carson's gaze moved directly to her cleavage.

"This is my girlfriend, Tammy Lutz. She's a big fan of pitchers."

Tammy whacked Emmett's leg under the table as she stood to shake hands with the man. James drew her hand to his lips instead and left a kiss on her knuckles. _Seriously, dude? I just introduced her as my girlfriend!_

"Well, have a good night, James." Emmett snaked his arm around Tammy's shoulders and pulled her into his side until Carson took the hint and buzzed off.

"What'd you do that for?" Tammy asked.

"I just remembered meeting him. He was chasing anything and everything with boobs. Plus, he'll never get called up to the majors. He's not good enough for you."

Tammy's scowl turned into a smirk. "Aw, you do care."

"Of course I care!" Emmett nudged his nose behind her ear. "I'm not letting you end up with some second-rate, womanizing hack."

Tammy let out a long-suffering sigh. "Face it, Em. No baseball player is ever going to be good enough for me in your eyes."

"Nobody I know, that's for damn sure!" Emmett huffed as he sliced off a piece of his tenderloin. "You eating your meat?"

She stabbed her filet and transferred it to Emmett's plate while surveying the room for other options. "Okay, fine. What do you think of that photographer who works for SI?"

Emmett hardly slowed the forkful of au gratin potatoes headed to his mouth. "Which one?"

"That guy," Tammy said, pointing her chin to a man seated at the next table. "Jacob Black. I met him on opening day. I like his work."

After giving him a good, long stare, Emmett shrugged. "He doesn't repulse me."

"I'll take it," Tammy replied. "You mind if I go say hi?"

"Have at it, Tam. Do you want those potatoes?"

"Nope. Take whatever you like."

As Tammy stood up and dropped her napkin in the seat behind her, Emmett grabbed her wrist. "You too, Tammy. I mean that."

Rolling her eyes, she answered, "I'm going to say hello, not give him a lap dance."

"You know what I'm saying."

"Yes," she said, leaning down to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you."

Emmett watched Tammy make her way over to the next table, politely shaking hands until she reached her target. He must've asked about Emmett, because Tammy turned around and waved to him. Emmett smiled and waved back, and the photographer gave him a respectful nod. Tammy was buttering the guy up, telling him how much she admired his work, no doubt. They shook hands again, and Tammy returned to Emmett's side with Black's eyes on her the whole trip back.

"I'd say you have the man's attention," Emmett said.

Tammy blushed and downed half her water. "He's ridiculously hot."

Emmett gave her an amused grin. "I'm pretty sure he's thinking the same thing about you. Don't look!"

She glanced down at her plate and stabbed at one of the yellow carrots. "You don't look either!"

"But he's so ridiculously hot!" Emmett parroted in Tammy's voice, fanning himself with his napkin. "Oh, this is beautiful. What did you tell him about us?"

"I didn't tell him anything. He knows we're together."

"Hmm, did you get an 'I know they're together, so I'll just give up' sense, or was it more of an 'I'm gonna win her over and steal her away from the rat bastard' kind of feeling?"

"I doubt he thought anything beyond, 'Some chick likes my pictures.'"

Emmett glanced over at Black once more. He had angled his body toward Tammy though he seemed fully absorbed by the conversation at his table. "He's thinking about you."

"Stop looking!" Tammy scolded him through clenched teeth, which made Emmett chuckle.

"Wait till he sees you dance. He's gonna lose his mind."

"You hate dancing," Tammy said, but her grin gave her away.

"I love you more than I hate dancing." Emmett gave her an adoring look entirely for Black's benefit.

"I love you too, Emmett." As Tammy ate the last of her carrots, a contented smile settled on her face.

He would do right by her, Emmett promised himself. Despite what he lacked the courage to take for himself, Emmett would make sure Tammy found her happiness.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Get it, TAM!

Now, I know a few of you (many of you?) were hoping Edward was going to show up looking great in a tux and Emmett wasn't going to be able to resist and maybe there would be at least some *eyes* made across the crowded room ...or perhaps a sexy slow dance resulting in hot, dance floor humping ... To you lovely perverts, I'd like to say God bless your fantasies. Keep 'em coming. But when all your readers know the ending to your story, the journey better be a little challenging. *SMILES*

I wanted to post today's update notice with a picture (or five) of hot male cheerleaders, but SHOCKINGLY (truly), most of the pictures I found were more humorous than hot (or trying to be, anyway). SO, open invitation, folks...if you've got 'em, hit me up in the Patch! See you there? See you here in this little box below? Either way, LOVE YOU GUYS! :*  
**XXX ~BOH**


	15. Chapter 15

**XXX CHAPTER 15 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball "Boys of summer" play outdoors in the best weather of the year.**

Emmett chuckled at Edward's latest romantic notion of the game. He'd save his commentary on this one and deliver it in person in . . . _shit, _ten minutes!

He downed the rest of his smoothie and raced around the condo, picking up stray socks, discarded shoes, and the odd beer bottle forgotten on the coffee table. _And what the hell are you doing, Emmett McCarty? Are we entertaining? _Even while denying the possibility, Emmett sponged down the counter and scrubbed the sink until it reached the imagined standards of his "not OCD or anything" new friend. The only reason Emmett wasn't more frantic about the trickier porcelain surfaces was an angel named Rosalina who divided her time between his parents', the Whitlocks', and Emmett's place. Thank god for Rosalina.

Lacing his sneakers, Emmett willed his heart not to burst from his chest—an episode that would drastically increase the difficulty level of running. He anchored his Oakleys on his head and looped his watch strap through his keys. His playlist could take the day off; his running partner would provide all the motivation Emmett needed today.

He wasn't even a little surprised to find Edward waiting at the agreed-upon spot, stretching out his calves against the wooden bench. While Edward's jeans hadn't concealed the length of his legs, they'd definitely obscured the muscle tone. It made Emmett curious what the professor might be hiding under his light blue, short-sleeved running shirt, and he was going to have a rough time setting that wondering aside.

"Hey," Emmett said, catching the hand Edward reached across his extended leg. "You ready to roll?"

"Sure." Edward gave Emmett one of his pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming grins as his gaze coasted down Emmett's white tank and brief running shorts. "How far are we going?"

"I usually run until I've used up half my energy, then turn around and come back."

"Very scientific," Edward answered.

Emmett smirked. "I thought you offered to pace me."

"Yes, though it would help if you could give me a clue about distance and speed."

This guy was too much. "Come on, old school. Let's run. You'll figure it all out as we go."

Emmett led off, watching with great amusement as Edward scrambled to his side and matched his long strides to Emmett's pace.

"Could you run at this pace all the way to that bend at the end of the beach?" Edward asked.

Emmett looked off into the distance. "No way."

"Neither could I. Why don't we take it down a notch?" Edward slowed ever so slightly, but Emmett's rhythm completely disappeared when he tried to decrease his speed. "Here," Edward said, pulling out in front of Emmett, "let's try it this way. Better?"

"Sure." The mild sting of humiliation at chasing Edward's ass like the electric rabbit at the greyhound track was easily tempered by the opportunity to ogle said ass with complete impunity. Holding back really wasn't his strong suit, but Emmett concentrated all his effort on calibrating his steps to Edward's.

"How's it going back there?" Edward called over his shoulder.

"All good, boss." He would not disappoint this man. "Hey, how about running _with_ me?"

"Sure." Edward turned and jogged in place for the two steps it took Emmett to catch up. "Is this too tedious for you?"

Running alongside the man he'd been fantasizing about for two weeks, a man who'd impressed him further with each interaction . . . no, that wasn't too tedious for Emmett. "Absolutely," he answered, "you need to entertain me if you're going to make me run this slowly."

Edward chuckled. "Oh yeah? How'm I supposed to do that? Did you happen to bring some balls I could juggle for you?"

"There you go again with the clowns."

He shook his head. "I would be a lousy clown. That trick they do where they all pile out of the tiny car? My claustrophobia would kick in, and I'd cause some kind of mass hysteria."

"Um, Edward, I don't think they are all actually inside the tiny car."

He looked at Emmett as if he'd just caught one of his parents leaving the Tooth Fairy's ransom under his pillow. "Oh. Huh," he said before his mouth stretched into a wide grin. "You're out of step again, McCarty."

"Shit. You're supposed to entertain me, not distract me!"

Edward's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't say anything.

"Hey, Mac! Great season, man!"

Emmett waved to the random fan and kept running. "So . . . juggling is out. How did you amuse yourself on those long cross-country runs?"

"I don't think it will be very compelling for you."

Oh, now he was really curious. "Try me."

After giving him a long stare, Edward decided to answer. "I'd replay something complicated in my head, like a chess game. Took my mind off the burning in my legs."

"That's funny, I like the burning."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"No, I'm sure it doesn't."

They ran for a bit in companionable silence until the need to be inside Edward's head prompted Emmett to ask, "You playing chess with yourself right now?"

Edward smirked. "No."

"Well, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm not really thinking at all."

"Aw, c'mon, Professor. Don't hold out on me now."

Edward looked over, shook his head, blushed, and shook his head some more. "You're brutal."

_Oh, damn, this was gonna be good._

"Resistance is futile."

"Hey, Jean-Luc got away with it."

"We love you, Mac!" A group of guys on the beach waved their caps, and Emmett flipped his hat off his head and waved it back.

"Admirers everywhere," Edward said.

"Stop trying to change the subject, Slick. C'mon, a nickel for your thoughts. I'm good for it."

"Okay. Because you asked so . . . pushily, my thoughts basically consist of an infinite loop of 'You're running with Emmett McCarty. Holy shit!'"

Emmett's lower lip disappeared between his teeth while he scrambled for a response that wouldn't embarrass them both further._ That's why God invented sarcasm. _"Hmm, I think I'll have to downgrade you to a penny for that one," he said.

"I tried to warn you." Edward grimaced and stuck his tongue out, making Emmett laugh. "So, what deep thoughts are _you_ thinking?"

_Sorry, pal. I can't handle the truth. _"Oh, I was just imagining frolicking out on the baseball diamond with my teammates on a perfect summer's day, water bottles filled with ice cold, freshly-squeezed lemonade, building sand castles in the dugout while we wait our turn at bat." Emmett's voice grew increasingly wistful as he drew the most starry-eyed version possible of the "boys of summer" nickname.

Edward was no fool. He raised his eyebrows at Emmett's cocky grin and quickly chose amusement as his response. "Whatever, dude. You have to admit, it's a hell of a lot nicer to play in the summer than the sleet and blizzard conditions the Hawks have to put up with!"

"Overall, yes. But when the sun is beating down on your back, and the humidity is pulling Gatorade out of every pore, it doesn't feel like such a joy. Come on, that can't be fun in the stands either—roasting like a ballpark frank on a spit. Admit it!"

"Nope. I refuse to let your cynical exceptions run roughshod on my happy place."

Chuckling, Emmett held up his hands. "Hey, far be it from me to spoil romance with reality."

Edward caught Emmett off guard with a serious response. "Don't worry. You don't."

"Mac! Big Mac!" A group of giggly girls in bikinis were jiggling along the side of the running path and snapping photos on their phones. "Who's your hot friend?"

Edward's head snapped to the girls and back to Emmett, an anxious look on his face.

_I've got your back, my friend._ "Hey, ladies! Don't forget to apply sunscreen to those tender spots!"

They tittered and giggled and ran along for about fifty yards before giving up.

"You're about to hit Instagram. I hope you're not wanted for murder or anything."

"Not that I know of. I don't think anyone is really going to care who I am."

"Are you kidding? You'll be trending by noon."

"Wonderful."

"I'm sorry. There's a cost to hanging out with me."

"I suppose you're worth it." Edward's cheeky grin was back, and Emmett was damn happy to see it. "I'm sure your girlfriend feels the same way."

_His girlfriend. Right._

"Tammy's a trooper." Emmett's lie settled around his shoulders like a cement cape. "Hey, I'm about halfway through my energy here. Can we head back?"

"Sure." Edward pivot-turned and led them back.

Emmett was pleased to see the bikinis had settled onto their towels for some sun-worshipping and didn't notice them running by.

"How's the pace for you?" Edward asked, a bit of concern reaching his voice.

_Not nearly punishing enough. _"I could pick it up a little, to be honest."

"Why don't you take the lead for a bit?" Edward suggested.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll just yank on your shirt if you get going too fast."

Emmett laughed. "Aversion therapy?"

"Something like that."

"Okay, just try not to pull me down. Coach will be pissed if you break my leg. I have to pitch on Wednesday."

Edward grinned. "I know."

"Of course you do."

Left to his own devices and demons, Emmett picked up speed like a skier headed down an icy mountainside. His cover story had always seemed a necessary evil, a lie he could justify with the argument that he owed nobody the details of his private life. But now, it felt personal. He'd just lied to Edward's face.

The math teacher would've spun through the probabilities more efficiently than they reeled through Emmett's mind, but as he ran, he worked the problem in his head. What were the chances Edward was gay? (High.) What were the chances Edward wanted Emmett? (Pretty high.) What were the chances Edward knew Emmett was gay? (Who the hell knew? He'd made that girlfriend crack, but maybe that was a fishing expedition.) What were the chances Edward would out him? (Low, unless something terrible happened between them.) What were the chances something terrible would happen between them?

Emmett had no guess for that. How could he? When had he ever tried to have a real relationship with anyone? He had no idea if he had what it took to make one work. Was this the right moment—with so much riding on the outcome—to try for the first time? Or was that all a load of hooey, as his father would say, using baseball as the excuse to avoid intimacy? And if he really played out the excuse, was he willing to concede the next ten years of his life and settle for back-alley blowjobs and high class escorts paid for their silence?

A hot, sweaty hand gripped Emmett's wrist. "Hey! Ease up a little?"

Emmett's heart was racing, and his feet were doing their damnedest to slow the whole machine down. Looking up, Emmett realized he'd run nearly all the way back at what amounted to a dead sprint.

Edward ran up beside him, huffing and puffing a bit but grinning now that Emmett had slowed. "That's what I get for leaving the wild stallion in charge of leading me back to the barn."

_Wild stallion. Big, beefy stud. Heh, Emmett liked that imagery a lot. _"You distracted me again."

"I was behind you!"

Suddenly weary, Emmett slowed to a walk. "Sorry, I think I'm done. You can run on ahead of you want."

"No can do. I'm a leave-no-man-behind kinda guy."

Emmett bent forward, dragging in a thick dose of oxygen. Turning his head toward Edward, he said, "Somehow, I had a feeling you would be."

Edward stepped closer and placed his hand on Emmett's shoulder. "Need water or something?"

"No, just give me a minute."

"Sure, take your time."

The irony would've made Emmett laugh if he weren't so goddamn sick of himself for doing just that. Unfolding slowly in Edward's grasp, Emmett stood to his full height and looked his new friend right in the eye. "I think we can both agree I'm not to be trusted."

Confusion creased Edward's forehead. As he stepped back, Edward's hand dropped off Emmett's shoulder. "Huh?"

"I'm shit at pacing myself. Don't let go of the reins next time, okay?"

Edward registered the 'next time' with a huge grin. "Yeah, sure. You can count on me."

_Yep, I know._

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm gonna leave you alone this time to share your own thoughts. I really love the reviews on this story. You guys are doing a great job getting in both heads (STEADY!) and I love hearing what you come up with. MWAH!  
**XXX ~BOH**


	16. Chapter 16

**XXX CHAPTER 16 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The baseball season is a marathon, 162 games played over 180 days, yet the lead often boils down to a game or two.**

**I don't know whether to be inspired or depressed!**

**Inspired! You've really improved. Today was better than yesterday by leaps and bounds, and yesterday was better than Sunday.**

Edward's enthusiasm was contagious. **I'll try not to backslide too much without you in Atlanta.**

**Just pretend I'm beside you, yanking on your shirt to slow down.**

**It won't be the same. **Cutting a little too close to the truth, Emmett hit "send" despite the flutter in his belly.

**Don't worry—I'll straighten you out again when you get home. Did you want to run on Friday or do you just chill on your day off?**

**Both. And I'll take you up on that lunch you owe me if you're still game. **

_Smooth, Emmett. Real smooth. _He couldn't berate himself too harshly; after all, he'd held his damn tongue through three back-to-back days of running with Edward, who apparently was his new running coach—not that he'd ever especially wanted one of those.

**Sure! Are we showering first, or am I taking you to the hot dog stand on the beach? (I prefer the former.)**

_Christ! Showering . . . now, how was that going to work? _

_How do you think, moron? _

_Right. Edward showering in my shower. Well, not _my_ shower, but the guest room shower. Still . . . Christ!_

**Let's be civilized. You can shower at my place. Can you manage the 35****th**** floor?**

**As long as you don't dangle me over the balcony, I should be fine.**

**I stopped doing that after what happened to the last guy.**

**You know that's not helping, right? **A slightly flustered Edward turned out to be a highly entertaining conversation partner.

**I guess you're not taking me to the Needle for lunch?**

**If the height didn't get me, the revolution would! Do you think you could pick a non-spinning place at sea level?**

**I'll do some research.**

**Good. That'll keep you out of trouble on the road.**

_Not touching that one__**. **_**Speaking of that road, I probably won't check in tomorrow. It's better if I avoid the outside world when I'm pitching. Don't take it persona**

**personally. Damn character counts!**

**Got it. You know where to find me if you need anything.**

Edward immediately fired back a follow-up message. **…You know, like pitching advice! Sorry, don't know what I was thinking there.**

Oh, Edward. Silly man, there's so much I need from you. I just can't tell you any of it. **I appreciate the sentiment.**

**Thanks for cutting me down from my noose. I should read my damn messages before I hit send.**

**I could say the same, my friend. **_Whoops! Case in point_.

Edward seemed to overlook Emmett's familiarity. **This is why I usually just sit quietly and mind my own business. I'm a follower, not a tweeter.**

**You seem pretty tweety to me.**

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

**Just with you.**

Emmett suspected as much, but that didn't stop the warm gush of tenderness from washing over him. **Aw, I bet you say that to all the number 69s.**

Another pause followed during which Emmett braced himself for another mushy answer. What he got instead was, **You caught me. In fact, it's not just tweets. I run with 7 different 69s, and I'm having lunch with 3 of them on Thursday.**

**Wow! 3 lunches in one day. No wonder you run so slowly. :)**

**Ha! Nice try, Mac!**

_I was wondering if you were ever gonna try that out. _**What about your profile pic, huh?**

**Oh yeah…I have 12 different profiles. You're blocked from all but yours so you don't get jealous.**

**Good thinking. I'm not great at sharing. My kindergarten teacher probably fucked me up or something.**

**I bet it had to do with the finger paints. **

Edward was on a roll here. Emmett sat back with a giant smile on his face, sipping his beer and watching Edward spin his story. **You probably had the yellow, and whoever had blue wanted to mix and make green. But then you couldn't paint the bright yellow sun over your**

**house with the smoking chimney and four symmetrical windows.**

Emmett pictured every perfectly circular—or as perfect as any kid can freehand with fingerpaints—bright yellow sun over every symmetrical house he'd ever painted. **How do you know I had symmetrical windows?**

**Most kids draw them that way.**

**So now I'm not special?**

**Hmm, let's see. Grossly asymmetrical drawings can represent impulsivity. Would that be you?**

**Nah. I always know the end game. I might get a wee bit impatient getting there, but I'm not random or out of control.**

**Didn't think so. Ever draw people with no nose or mouth?**

**Not that I can recall. Why?**

**Sign of shyness.**

Luckily, Emmett didn't have a mouthful of beer, or he would've just spat across the room.** Um, have you met me?**

**I think so. Guy that looked a lot like you anyway. I'm thinking you should draw a few pictures for me at lunch. Just to be sure.**

**I am tragically terrible at drawing. Please don't make me. You'll be embarrassed to be seen with me. I'm not kidding here.**

**Embarrassed to be seen with you, huh? Hasn't happened so far...**

**That's because I haven't drawn anything.**

**Thanks for the warning, but I think I'll take my chances. **

_Won't we both? _**If you insist, why don't you bring your clothes and meet me in my lobby Friday morning? My concierge can watch your stuff while we run.**

**Sounds like a plan. I'll bring paper and crayons.**

**There's a Mariners coloring book, but I look a little fat. Wouldn't recommend it.**

**How dare they do that to Emmett McCarty!**

**Right? Capitalist bastards!**

**Hey—good luck tomorrow. I'll talk to you whenever.**

**Thanks, man.**

Emmett refrained from the "love you" he would've tacked onto a text to Tammy, not that he didn't have the urge to bleed some endearment into the Twitterverse. Holding back was more difficult now that he and Edward were actually spending time together in person, but Emmett would be damned if he was going to cut back on what had quickly become his most anticipated hour of the day.

_Two days away might be just what I need to gain a little perspective, a healthy distance._

XXX

Mariners pitchers are a spoiled lot; Safeco Field routinely ranks high on the list of pitcher-friendly parks on the full gamut of stats. Add in dealing with the home team fans of the host stadium, and pitching on the road could be somewhat daunting, certainly not the time a Mariners pitcher would expect to shine. The National League stadiums presented the bonus joy of batting duty—not exactly a confidence builder for its visiting pitchers.

It's not as though Emmett expected to perform poorly on those nights, but the man was well aware of his stats; he pitched better at Safeco. They all did.

Still, half his games were pitched on the road, and Emmett was a pro. When he took the mound Wednesday night, he pushed all the home-away nonsense from conscious thought along with perfect games and no-hitters. He faced one batter at a time, mano-a-mano, a game of wit and skill Emmett was determined to win. The arena faded into the background, taking the crowd with it.

His arm felt good tonight—strong and loose. His fastballs found their mark, and his sliders curled exactly the way he'd drawn them in his head. One after the next, the batters retired to the bench, frustrated and bested.

"Looking real good out there, Mac," Coach McClendon said at the top of the fifth.

"Thanks, Coach."

"Whatever you're doing and thinking about, keep it up."

"I wasn't thinking about anything . . . until you said that. Thanks a lot."

Coach shook his head and gave Emmett a gentle slap on his back. "Just pace yourself, kid. That's all you have to think about."

"Huh, so I hear."

And now, Emmett was thinking. About the runner behind him, tugging on his shirt when he came on too strong; the runner beside him, rewarding Emmett with his irrepressible grin when he got it right. And other thoughts he'd tucked away in a safe drawer to pull out later, when he was alone—not when he had to go back out there and pitch in front of a full stadium and an international broadcast audience.

Sanchez hit a pop fly for the third out, and the crowd roared their appreciation for holding the Braves to a two-run deficit. Emmett shook his head as he rolled out of the dugout with his team, jiggling out the extraneous thoughts and regaining his focus.

That worked for a little while—until it didn't. The marathon concept faded in favor of the sprint. Every pitch became a do-or-die agony for his head, heart, and shoulder. Before Emmett knew what hit him, a runner had scored, bases were loaded, and Coach was trotting out to have a chat.

"I'd like to get some ice on that shoulder, Mac."

Emmett wanted to argue, wanted to assure his coach he had everything under control. Instead, he took a deep breath and dropped the game ball into McClendon's hands. "Okay, boss."

As he jogged to the dugout, the crowd jeered and chanted nasty epithets, but Emmett's inner monologue drowned them all out with far worse. Fully expecting Trey to greet him from the top of his favorite new soapbox, Emmett braced himself for another lecture. Instead, he found a pair of sympathetic eyes, a warm smile, and an ice pack waiting for him in the locker room.

"Take a load off."

Huffing, Emmett dropped into the chair. "Really wish I could."

Trey fiddled with the ice pack until he was satisfied, then hauled a chair in front of Emmett and sat down. "I really liked what I saw out there tonight."

"I always suspected you were a closet Braves fan."

Trey chuckled. "Let's talk about the first four innings."

Emmett really hated being humored, and Trey knew better. Sighing heavily, he asked, "What would you like me to say?"

"Where'd that patience come from all of a sudden?"

Emmett looked into the eyes of the man entrusted with fine tuning his body for optimal performance. This wasn't humoring; Trey had seen the difference. "I've been practicing."

"Mmhmm," Trey said, giving Emmett the impression he was about to let him off the hook. "How?"

_Guess not._ "I have a running partner. Hey, my shoulder's a little sore. How about some ibuprofen?" Emmett made sure to cringe a bit as he shifted in his seat.

"Sure." Trey strode over to the medicine cabinet and spilled a few pills into his hand. Passing them over to Emmett with a cup of water, he said, "That would be the fifth inning coming back to bite you in the ass."

"Yeah." Emmett downed the pills and waited for the lecture.

Trey stepped around behind him, massaging his thumbs into Emmett's right shoulder until he elicited a loud groan. "So, you don't want me to ask about this running partner."

_Fuck. _Being evasive would only arouse further suspicion. There was a truth that would satisfy Trey, and Emmett gave it to him, praying it would be enough. "I have a new friend who ran long distance in college. He's working on slowing me down."

Bracing his knee against Emmett's lower back, Trey pressed his elbow into the trapezius muscle and drew tiny, deep, excruciating circles. "Tell him I said thank you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Someone said shower. Looks like Edward might have his own fan!

Poor Mac. Is Edward good or bad for his game?

**XXX ~BOH**


	17. Chapter 17

**XXX CHAPTER 17 XXX**

The elevator doors closed, and Edward's gaze locked onto the red digits ticking their way up to the penthouse level. Emmett had always appreciated the quick ascent, but it seemed his new friend didn't share the sentiment. _13, 14, 15 . . ._

_C'mon, guy. Breathe!_

"Stop looking at me like that. I told you, I'm fine."

"Okay, okay. It's just that your face took on a greenish tint around the twelfth floor, and I was afraid you might be getting ready to bust through the doors. I don't think my condo fees cover that."

"Not to worry. I carry Hulk insurance." _23, 24, 25 . . _

Emmett chuckled. "Good to know."

Edward didn't crack a smile, concentrating on the digital display with all his might. Come to think of it, this was about the edgiest Emmett had ever seen him. Maybe he should've opted for a hot dog on the beach after all and saved Edward from what was obviously a stressful situation.

Emmett was torn; he wanted to ask him if he was okay, wanted to take his mind off the rising numbers. Frankly, he wanted to stare for a bit longer at the way Edward's sweaty shirt clung to his belly and the way his glutes filled out his running shorts. But none of that would help Edward cope, so instead, Emmett averted his glance and fiddled with his phone, leaving Edward as much privacy and pride as he could in the small, enclosed space they were sharing for the next few seconds.

"Thirty-fifth floor," said the robotic female voice as the doors opened to Emmett's suite. He gestured for Edward to get out first, figuring anything would be an improvement over being trapped in the metal box.

Emmett kept a close watch on him as Edward's glance swept the space, steering clear of the windows and resting safely on the interior. "Nice place."

"Thanks. Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Juice? Whiskey?"

Edward laughed. "Water might be good, thanks. I don't usually drink before lunch."

Crossing to the kitchen, Emmett tapped one of the chairs at the counter. "Have a seat."

"I don't want to get your furniture all sweaty."

He'd already opened the refrigerator door, which conveniently offered Emmett a place to hide his wide grin. "Want me to sit down and mess it up first so you don't feel bad?"

Edward's bag hit the floor with a soft thud, followed by the slightly squeaky glide of the chair and the landing of one sweaty-but-perfect ass in said chair. Emmett pulled out two water bottles and slid one across the counter. "Cheers."

He couldn't help feeling giddy, watching Edward wrap his lips around the bottle, watching the bob of his Adam's apple as he guzzled the water, and best of all, discovering that Edward had been watching him just as closely as their eyes locked in an intense stare.

Edward broke the connection first. "Guess I was a bit thirsty."

Answering with a smile, Emmett leaned forward on the counter. "Plenty more where that came from."

"I'm good, thanks. So, how long have you lived here?"

"I got really lucky. The guy who owned this place was a muckety-muck with Starbuck's, and they relocated him to China about a week after I signed with the Mariners. The broker I was working with knew I wanted something on the water. It all clicked."

"It's nice when that happens." No more than two feet away, those exact sexy cat's eyes Emmett had conjured sliced a path straight to his heart. "Feels like the universe is telling you you're in the right place at the right time, you know?"

A hot blush threatened Emmett's careful camouflage. _Deflector shields up!_ "By the way, I have a message for you from my trainer."

"Trey?"

Emmett grinned. "You remembered."

_Hello, blush._ Edward shrugged it off. "Lemme guess. I should do more ab work?"

"No, you're fine." _And what the hell was it about Edward's blush that meant Emmett was about to make a damn fool of himself every time?_ "Trey noticed I was more patient on the mound and asked how that happened. He's been working with me for years to take my time, and I'm still all . . . 'Big Mac attack.'"

"You told him about me?" Edward took a long draw on his water, but Emmett caught the smile around the rim of his bottle.

"I did." _Blush one. Blush two. _"Told him I had a tyrant for a running coach, and he said I should thank you—for him." Emmett sucked down some water, gaze locked on Edward for his reaction.

Edward gave him back the most genuine smile Emmett thought he'd ever seen. "Tell Trey he's welcome."

Before their conversation could turn all moony and weird, Emmett quickly changed the subject. "I don't know about you, but I worked up an appetite out there. If you don't feed me soon, _I_ might turn into the Hulk. You ready to hit the showers?"

"Sure."

"You can use the guest room at the end of the hall. I checked last night and everything should be in there—towel, soap, whatnot." Now Emmett was picturing Edward in the shower with the soap and whatnot; he could hear himself rambling, but he couldn't quite locate the off switch. "Just yell if you need anything." _Like someone to soap your back._

"Thanks," Edward said, handing his empty water bottle to Emmett.

Emmett waited until Edward was halfway down the hall before saying, "And hey, don't be afraid to get the shower wet."

"Just for that, I'm gonna use up all your hot water!" he answered without turning around.

Emmett's shower was a tortured affair, and he had nobody to blame but himself. Well, not entirely true. He could blame Edward for being hot and sweaty and adorable, but Emmett's own stupid comment about getting the shower wet had left him completely incapable of thinking about anything other than Edward standing under a stream of hot water, soaping himself, cleaning those crevices and hard-to-reach spots with those long perfect fingers of his. _Shit! _

Emmett had half a mind to stand under the spray until all the hot water was gone, to make Edward wait while he took the slow boat to Cleansville. As usual, the other half of his brain—a.k.a. his cock—took over, demanding action of the hard and fast variety. Emmett let his mind wander down the hall, jumping into Edward's shower stall behind him, pressing his raging erection against the soapy mounds, trapping Edward against the cold wall, reaching around to relieve him of the aching pressure while he . . . _ah, fuck, yeah . . . _Emmett bit down hard on his lower lip, attempting to keep the reverberation of his explosive release within the confines of the shower, an effort he realized had most likely failed when he stepped out into the living room, fully clothed, and met Edward's eyes. Then again, Edward had a bit of a guilty air about him too. _Huh. _

"Ready to blow?" Emmett asked.

Edward gave up another deep blush before pulling his bag onto his shoulder. "Sure."

"Would you prefer Thai or Mexican? I promise they both offer great views of the ocean from sea level."

"Thai sounds good and thank you."

"Great. Thai Landing it is." Emmett grabbed his car keys from the bowl near the door. "Why don't I drive since I know the neighborhood?"

"Okay, but you really have to let me pay."

"Don't worry," Emmett said with a wink, "I will. I might even have a beer."

"Good. I was hoping since it's your day off, maybe you could relax a bit."

Pushing the button for the elevator, Emmett said, "I have to be at my sister's at six-thirty."

"That works."

They both stared at the elevator doors, but out of the corner of his eye, Emmett could see Edward's smile. A light _ding_ announced the elevator, and as the doors slid open, Emmett asked, "Is going down any easier?"

Edward shook his head and took a deep breath as he stepped through the doors. "As long as I don't think about being stuffed inside a steel coffin with a limited oxygen supply."

"At least there aren't any clowns in here with us." Erasing every trace of teasing from his voice, Emmett said, "Sorry, man."

"That's okay. You're worth it."

Unlike the ride up, the elevator stopped several times to pick up passengers. Edward inched into the back corner, and Emmett anchored himself beside him for support. A few of the residents recognized Emmett and greeted him as they got on. Emmett was hyper-aware of Edward's closeness, could feel the hairs on their arms tickling at each other, but he stood stock still.

Edward exhaled as he escaped the close quarters, regaining his composure as they walked through the garage to Emmett's Spyder. "Sweet car." Edward had a way of admiring the trappings of Emmett's celebrity status without making him feel like a douchebag for having nice things.

"Excuse me one sec." As they pulled out of the garage, Emmett activated the hands-free feature of his phone. "_Call_ _Thai Landing_."

"Calling _Thai Landing_," his car's computer responded.

A female voice floated into the car. "Good afternoon, Thai Landing. How may I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Preeda. This is Emmett McCarty. How are you today?"

"Very good, Mr. McCarty. Placing a take-out order?"

"Not today. I'm coming in for lunch with a friend." Emmett's gaze wandered over to Edward. "We'd like to sit outside, please."

"Sure. We'll have your table waiting."

"Thank you. See you soon."

He ended the call with a flick of his thumb.

"What's that like?" Edward asked.

Emmett glanced at his passenger, who was grinning at him. "What do you mean?"

"Having a table at every restaurant in the city?"

"I don't have a table at every restaurant . . . you have a sample size of two. You must know better than to draw conclusions, Professor."

"It wasn't statistics; it was an educated guess based on observation and extrapolation."

"Oh, and what have you observed?" Even with his eyes on the road, Emmett could see Edward's smirk, and he was barely containing his own.

"You have a certain charm."

"Edward, I go to the same few places all the time. They take good care of me, and I go back. It's a good deal for everyone."

"I guess I better leave a big tip."

"That helps too."

The ride was short, and soon they were following Preeda to a corner table on the patio. As soon as they were seated, Edward unfolded his napkin and grimaced when he discovered the chopsticks. "Ugh, you're probably one of those people who's really good at using these."

"It's all in the wrist." Emmett shrugged. "I'm sure they can scrounge you up a fork."

"No way." He picked up his chopsticks and illustrated exactly how clumsy he was, causing Emmett to laugh. "You did say you have a few hours to eat, right?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out."

"I'm more likely to poke my eye out, to be honest. So what's good here? Do you have a favorite?"

"I'm partial to their Panang curry, but it's pretty spicy."

"Hmm, sounds dangerous."

Edward studied the menu, and Emmett studied Edward. His head bobbed up and down the menu as if his life depended on picking just the right dish, his brows knit in deep concentration. _Fucking adorable. _Edward was still agonizing when the waitress came to take their order.

"Will you join me for a beer while you decide? It's lunchtime now." Emmett smiled with what he imagined was a huge dose of the aforementioned charm.

"Sure, what the hell."

"We'll take two Singhas and a few more minutes, please."

"No, wait! I'm ready. I'll have the Mongolian beef."

"And I'll have the Panang curry with chicken." They handed over their menus, and Emmett chuckled at Edward. "Boy, once you make up your mind, you're a force."

"So I've been told."

"Huh. No commitment issues then?" Emmett prayed his light tone made up for the overly personal probe.

Fortunately, Edward laughed it off, though Emmett caught a hint of darkness around the edges. "No, I am not _that_ guy."

"Does that mean you're with someone now?" Emmett didn't like the quake in his voice; perhaps he wasn't hiding his feelings as well as he wanted to believe.

The beers arrived, and not a moment too soon. Emmett attempted a nonchalant sip, but every nerve was standing at attention, waiting for Edward's answer. Where the hell he thought he was going with this, Emmett had no clue. If Edward decided to turn the tables on him, he'd be screwed. He wasn't ready to answer questions.

Edward sighed deeply and shook his head. "No. It only means I wasn't the one in the relationship who was afraid to commit." He gulped down his beer the way he'd attacked the water earlier.

"Well, whoever it was, it's their loss."

"Yeah, I found that out the hard way. He certainly didn't turn out to be partner material." Having plopped the "he" bomb onto the table, Edward locked his intense green eyes on Emmett.

_This is a test. _Emmett recognized the signs well enough—he'd survived on them for years. Step one. Declare yourself. You're not asking the other guy to give himself away just yet, but boy, if he does, what a windfall! All you're hoping for at this point is to not get that "_Oh crap, has he been sitting here thinking about sucking my dick the whole time?"_ look in response—or worse. Betrayal, anger, and fear—those are the emotions you don't want to see when you reveal yourself.

Of course, Emmett felt none of those. No, his challenge right now was schooling every impulse not to shout with joy and laugh and flirt and jump the guy. As matter-of-factly as he could, Emmett responded. "Ouch. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to reopen old wounds."

"That's all right." Edward's shoulders relaxed, and he loosened his vice-like grip on his beer. It seemed Emmett had passed his test. "As I said before, the universe has a way of making things right."

A shiver snaked down Emmett's spine. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Welp, one question down. :) Hope you enjoyed the boys showering together sorta. Emmett's shower fantasy image is posted in the patch. *WINK*

**XXX ~BOH**


	18. Chapter 18

**XXX CHAPTER 18 XXX**

Emmett couldn't stop smiling.

He smiled all the way down the elevator, recalling the earlier ride jammed into the corner with Edward and the way the hairs on their arms had scarcely touched but still sent shockwaves through his body. Emmett hummed all the way to his car and continued grinning as he retracted the roof. There were precious few nights in June to enjoy his convertible, but apparently the universe Edward believed would make things right had decided to start tonight with the gift of a perfect summer evening.

Oakleys in place, he pulled out into the rush hour flurry with the top down and the music up—but not obnoxiously so. The front office did not appreciate their players jaunting around town acting like a bunch of entitled assholes, and Emmett took that responsibility seriously.

His heart was full and free as he drove to his sister's. If he were going anywhere else, he'd probably need to tamp down all the glee, but not with Alice and Jasper, and certainly not with Sawyer. Emmett looked forward to the chance to be himself almost as much as he looked forward to Alice's cooking. He managed okay in the kitchen, but he certainly wouldn't classify it as cooking.

_Ah, I wonder if Edward likes to cook._

Emmett was in too good of a mood to berate himself for the brief naked-but-for-the-apron fantasy, chuckling it off with a shake of his wind-ruffled head.

As city roads turned to tree-lined streets, he could feel the pressure inside his body decompressing. The Whitlocks' home was a special kind of sanctuary for Emmett, a no-fan zone where he could be a brother and an uncle and a friend. Named Madrona for the native tree peppering the hills, the neighborhood was a haven for urban power couples with young children, perfect for his sister's little family.

The Spyder purred to a stop in Alice's driveway. Before grabbing the bag of treats he'd brought his nephew, Emmett put up the roof. One doesn't tempt fate even on a gorgeous summer night in Seattle.

Sawyer answered the bell, squeezing the stuffing out of Emmett when he picked the kid up to give him a hug. "Ahhh, I thought I told you to stop growing! What have they been feeding you, magic beans?"

"No, Uncle Em!" Sawyer answered in a torrent of giggles. "Chicken fingers and broccoli with cheese!"

"That'll do it! Have you been practicing your batting like I showed you?"

"Yes! I hit three balls into the bucket yesterday!"

"No kidding! Three? Wow! Might have to send Coach out here next week to take a look!"

Sawyer's expression turned serious. "I can't, Uncle Em. Mom says I have to go to school just like you did."

"Aww." Emmett slid Sawyer onto his feet, crouching down to meet his nephew at eye level. "Your mom's pretty smart, Soy. Baseball's a thinking man's game; school's important. Besides, your new school sounds pretty awesome, dude. I hear they have a baseball diamond."

"Yep. I'm gonna play t-ball!"

"Mind if I come watch?"

"That'd be cool!"

Emmett riffled the boy's sandy blond hair, a gift from Jasper's side of the family. "Cool. Hey, here's something for later—after you eat your veggies and before you brush your teeth." With a wink, he handed Sawyer the brown bag filled with his favorite candies from the arcade at the beach.

"Thank you!"

"Welcome."

"Can we play catch while dinner gets ready?"

"You bet, champ. What are we having tonight?"

"I'm not sure. Dad's grilling something out back."

"No wonder I can't smell anything! I thought my sniffer was broken." Emmett gave his nose a comical scrub—anything to make Sawyer smile. "Why don't you run and get our mitts while I say hello to your mom?"

Sawyer scampered away, leaving Emmett to wander into the kitchen, where Alice was busy chopping up veggies for the salad. "Hey, sis. Need a hand?"

She stopped dicing the red pepper long enough to look up and roll her eyes at her little brother. "You know you're not allowed near the knives. Pour yourself a glass of wine and come keep me company."

Emmett chuckled and refilled Alice's glass before pouring one for himself. "You know, I have my own knives at home. I even use them occasionally."

"I don't want to know. Anyway, you're not gonna cut yourself in _my_ kitchen—even if the Mariners have your hands insured."

He held up his insured hands in surrender. "Fine, is there anything else I can do? Maybe put out some doilies or something?"

"Nope. Tell me some exciting 'baseball insider' stuff. Was there really a fight in the locker room after that game against Detroit?"

"What? No! Jesus, I can't believe you'd give the gossipmongers a second thought."

Alice shrugged, slid the peppers into the salad bowl, and slapped a cucumber onto the cutting board. "How's your shoulder feeling?"

"Fine."

The knife blade paused long enough for Alice to regard Emmett with one of her don't-bullshit-me glares. Emmett rotated his shoulder a few times until she seemed satisfied.

"Jas said you invited him to lunch the other day," she said evenly, giving away nothing.

"Yep." Jasper's love for his wife was epic, but Emmett knew he would never divulge something revealed in confidence—with or without the hourly fee. "I missed him."

Alice set the knife down on the cutting board and wiped her hands on the dishtowel. "Dammit, Emmett, should I be worried about you?"

Emmett spun his wine glass in slow circles. "No, Alice. I promise I'm fine."

"Well, you know I'm here when you're ready to share."

"When I have something to share, you will be . . . somewhere on my list."

Alice folded her arms tight against her chest. "Gee, thanks."

Sawyer bolted into the kitchen, laden with equipment. "I'm ready, Uncle Em!"

"Let's do it, bud."

"If you're going out, take Jas a glass of wine?"

"All righty . . ." Emmett poured a third glass and made a theatrical display of carrying it outside to his brother-in-law. "Your chalice, Milord. Dang, those steaks smell good."

"Be ready in about five minutes."

"C'mon, Soy, we don't have much time!" Emmett jogged away from Sawyer and tossed him the ball. "Good catch, buddy! Pop it back to me," he said, smacking his fist into the center of his glove before opening it toward Sawyer.

The ball was a wild toss out to Emmett's side, and he dove to make the catch with a loud "Oof!"

After making a big show of brushing himself off, Emmett took a major league windup and pitched the slowest ball he could possibly get to Sawyer's glove. "Great catch! Now, hit me right here on the buttons. That's it! You're getting better every week!"

"Wait till you see me bat!"

Jasper turned to watch them for a bit, sipping at his wine and smiling at the scene in his yard. "I really hate to break this up, boys, but the steaks are done. Dinner time!"

"Aww, Dad!"

Emmett laughed, scooping up Sawyer in his arms as he charged toward the door. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go wash up. That was some great catching. I'm super impressed."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Practice makes perfect." Emmett stood behind Sawyer at the sink, soaping up both pairs of hands inside one big sudsy cloud. They goofed around under the faucet until they were thoroughly splashed, throwing the towel back and forth and giggling until Alice called her "two children" to the table.

"This all looks delicious! Fresh corn on the cob? You guys are the best."

"So, Emmett, how've you been?" Jasper asked.

"I'm good."

After a lingering gaze, Jasper sliced off a chunk of his Porterhouse. "You guys have a long stretch without a break now. Almost two weeks, right?"

"Right. At least we're home for the first week." Emmett buttered a slice of bread and rubbed it along the corn cob, twirling it while Sawyer watched, fascinated. "What? Didn't your mother teach you how to butter your corn?"

Alice laughed. "I haven't done that since we were kids. I don't use butter anymore. I guess I forgot."

Jasper shrugged. "Don't look at me; I've never seen anyone do that before."

"How could you deprive my nephew of one of the world's greatest food hacks? Lookit, Soy, no hunks of butter sliding onto the plate, every kernel glistening with greasy perfection. Makes so much sense, right?"

"Sure. Can I try?"

"Knock yourself out. Here, want my bread?" Emmett pretended he was about to heave the buttered bread across the table.

Alice gasped. "Emmett! Don't you dare!"

"Seriously, sis? What am I, an animal?" Emmett gave Sawyer an exaggerated wink as he slid his bread plate across the table. "I sure hope you don't treat your grooms this way, Alice."

"Just the ones with no manners." Alice huffed, but the telltale curl of her lips gave her away.

"So, how are things in Weddingville?"

Alice poked at her salad. "Ah, the usual. Really ramping up now that June's here. I don't know why brides think it's a good idea to plan an outdoor wedding in Seattle. And speaking of grooms, I have a gay couple on Sunday. They're adorable."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, they're getting married at the Canal. It's going to be lovely."

Sawyer set down his corn. "What's 'a gay couple,' Mom?"

"Oh, that's when a man loves another man or a woman loves another woman."

He gave her answer some thought, answered, "Oh," and picked up his corn again.

The adults exchanged secret smiles all around the table while Sawyer gnawed away on the buttery cob, and the gentle glow of his nephew's easy acceptance continued to warm Emmett on through dessert. The strawberry shortcake wasn't heavy, but when it met Emmett's already full belly, about all he had the energy to do afterward was go sit his ass down on the couch. Luckily, that fit in perfectly with his plans.

"Wanna watch the game with us, Tiger?" he asked Sawyer.

"Sure. Who's playing?"

Jasper answered as he plopped down into his recliner and kicked back. "Yankees versus Red Sox. One of the most vicious rivalries in the league."

Sitting as close to Emmett as possible without actually sitting in his lap, Sawyer asked a million questions and soaked in his famous uncle's pearls of wisdom like a thirsty sponge. At nine on the dot, Alice came in from her office to cart Sawyer off. The boy gave Emmett another tight hug before saying good night.

"He is one hell of a fine kid, Jas."

"I would have to agree with you there." Eyes fixed on the TV, Jasper opened the conversation. "So, how was your meet-and-greet with your fan? Did he enjoy his VIP tour of the locker room?"

"I'd say so." The pictures of the two of them scrolled through Emmett's mind, drawing a smile he chose not to contain.

Jasper nodded, a similar grin stretching across his face. "I see."

"Oh! Did you see that gorgeous pitch? Lester nailed it!"

"Mmhmm."

Emmett let out a long sigh; it was hard work holding everything inside. "I like him, Jas—a lot."

Giving up the pretense of watching the game, Jasper met Emmett head-on. "Is that a good thing?"

"I think so." Emmett shifted too, ready to have this conversation. Jasper was more than his brother-in-law; he'd become Emmett's most trusted confidant. "We've been hanging out together a bit."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He's a long distance runner; he's attempting to teach me how to pace myself."

Jasper snorted. "Wow! Brave man—or epically stupid."

"He's anything but stupid. Did I mention his PhD in Mathematical Reasoning? From Stanford?"

"Nice."

"But he's not superior or anything. He's normal . . . sweet."

Nodding, Jas asked, "So you've been running together?"

"Yeah, started on Sunday. In fact, we ran this morning . . . and went out to lunch afterwards. He kind of owed me after I bought him breakfast last week."

Jasper's eyebrows shot up. "You two _have_ been hanging out a bit."

"As friends." Emmett squirmed on the couch, realizing even as he uttered the words how untrue they were, certain that Jas knew it too.

"That can be a very good place to start."

"It might also be a very good place to end."

Jasper stayed quiet, searching Emmett's face for answers he wouldn't find. "If that's what you want . . ."

"It's not."

There went Jas again, drawing out into the light what Emmett had pushed into a dark corner.

"And what does Edward want?"

"I'm not really sure, but today at lunch, he volunteered the little tidbit that he's gay."

"Huh."

Emmett smiled at his friend. "Shut up."

"Okay," Jasper said, smiling right back. "How can I help?"

"Here's the thing . . ."—Emmett blew out a deep breath and clenched his fists—"I can deal with the butterflies when I'm with him and all the fallout of a crush or whatever, but I'm starting to think he's affecting my game."

"How so?"

"Well, partially in a good way. I mean, the running advice has carried over to my pitching. My coaches and trainer have noticed I'm more patient."

"Okay, that's good."

"Yes, but . . . there's this other part of me, especially when we're playing at home, and I know he's sitting right up there . . ."—Emmett's gaze wandered up over his left shoulder—"and I guess I'm trying to show off or some damn thing. Idiotic, right? It's not exactly as if he's the only one watching me, but it sure as hell feels like it!"

Jasper's lips twitched, but he quickly tamed his smile. "I'm gonna go way out on a limb here, but I'd say he's impressed."

"And I'd really fucking like to keep it that way!"

"Hence the overzealous pitching?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his shoulder, "and the pain."

"Shit."

"I know. What the hell am I gonna do, Jas?"

Jasper folded his hands behind his head, crossed his legs at the ankles, and took his sweet time answering. "Seems to me you have the same choice as before, only now you have a bit more data. He's not Quasimodo, and you know he's gay—a little detail he wanted you to know, by the way."

"Doesn't mean he wants me that way."

"Do I need to dignify that with a response?"

Emmett shook his head. "Not really. He also made it clear he wasn't romantically attached to anyone right now."

"Yeah, just like you're not."

"Ugh!" Emmett dropped his face into his hands and scrubbed in frustration. "I really, really like this guy—even with his claustrophobia and fear of heights."

Jas waved away Emmett's concerns. "We can handle those minor details. The real question is, what's in your heart?"

"I feel like if I don't give this a try, I'll go nuts."

Unfolding his arms and spreading them wide, Jasper smiled. "My work here is done."

Emmett grabbed a throw pillow and winged it at Jasper's face. "You're such an ass. And thanks for not telling Alice."

"It's not my story to tell . . . though I wouldn't mind if you let her in on this so I don't end up in the doghouse. She knows we've been talking. You know she's 100% supportive of you, whatever you decide."

"Yeah, okay. Soon."

* * *

**Author's Note:** A little glimpse of Uncle Em. Thank you all for your insightful reviews. In addition to making me smile, each one makes me see my characters from a different angle, and that's a gift only you readers can give. MWAH! :*  
**XOXO ~BOH**


	19. Chapter 19

**XXX CHAPTER 19 XXX**

The Yankees came and went, taking all three games with them. It had always struck Emmett how quickly and thoroughly a losing streak can infect a winning team. The mood in the locker room was as low as Emmett had seen all season, and he was the man on the mound tonight against the Rangers.

Having denied himself not only Edward's inspirational quote du jour but also his companionship that morning, Emmett was edgier than ever by the time he sat down for Trey's pre-game care. The man's hands read Emmett's body like a Braille novel spilling its secrets.

"You're tight."

"I'm aware."

"Pain?"

"Not yet," Emmett answered between firmly gritted teeth.

Trey dug deep into the tissue, fighting the tension from the outside in. Emmett braced for one of his trainer's famous lectures but instead, Trey shifted gears, delivering his message in a tone that belonged on a cooking show. "Let's go to your happy place, Mac. C'mon, close your eyes for me. We're walking on the beach. Feel the sand in your toes?"

The guy was trying so hard, Emmett didn't have the heart to shut him down. "Sure."

"The waves are crashing over our feet, and we're looking out . . . way out at the horizon, where the water disappears into the sky."

"Are we holding hands?" He couldn't help himself, and Trey played right along.

"Whatever you need. Sure, we're holding hands."

Emmett cracked up, his little chuckle turning into a full-blown belly laugh. Soon, Trey was doubled over along with him, laughing until their eyes watered.

"Thanks, man. I really fucking needed that."

Trey mock-slapped him on the back. "You ruined a perfectly good visualization."

"I didn't ruin it; I made it better!"

"You're gonna be fine, Mac. Just remember your patience. And for the love of all that is holy, please try to keep your arm loose, and when it gets bad, let us know. It's early June; we still have a lot of baseball left. Nobody wants to see your fat ass on the bench."

Emmett's head whipped around. "My ass is fat now? I think you've been looking at too many fitness magazines."

"Get out of my chair and go win a baseball game."

"I'll try my hardest."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

Nobody would say he didn't try his hardest, but it was clear from the get-go that tonight was not Emmett's night. An early fast ball got away from him for a home run, and after that, Emmett was a man on a mission—harder, faster, trickier. During inning breaks, he took an earful from the coaching staff, leaving the dugout resolved to take his time and trust his arm. Then he'd step on that mound, and all was forgotten again. He was letting down his team, his fans, and himself; the harder he fought, the worse he played. Nobody was surprised when Emmett was relieved in the sixth inning, leaving his team in a four-one hole to climb out of.

Trey was kind—and wise—enough to work out Emmett's kinks with his mouth shut. After the game, the guys filed into the locker room and doled out their mandatory slaps on the ass but steered clear of Emmett after that, leaving him to lick his wounds. He drove home in silence and bypassed the computer to collapse on his bed.

XXX

Slapping his alarm clock the next morning at 7:45, Emmett cursed himself for not canceling on Edward earlier; it was too late now. Running was the last thing he felt like doing, but figuring Edward was probably already on his way, Emmett decided to suck it up and get his "fat ass" down to the beach.

Rolling out of bed, he clutched his shoulder and let out a pained groan. On second thought, maybe he _wasn't _gonna suck it up. Edward would understand.

Slogging over to his phone, Emmett texted Edward: **Not feeling it today. Sorry to cancel last minute. **

**No problem. Take it easy.**

_No drama, just the way Emmett liked it. _**Thanks, Coach.**

"Argh!" What the hell was he gonna do with himself now? The pain was too intense to try going back to sleep, but waking up early just to lie around seemed a waste, too. Moving on autopilot, Emmett dug out the ingredients for an extra-green smoothie and checked his phone while the blender crushed everything to a fine pulp.

**I was almost here, so I'm running anyway. I won't disturb you.**

A dark laugh escaped Emmett. _You disturb me plenty, Edward Cullen, and I've got the stats to prove it. But you already know that, don't you?_

Data doesn't lie. There was life before Edward—one lousy call short of a perfect game—and life after Edward—a slow, terrifying freefall off a jagged cliff.

With a heavy sigh, Emmett poured his drink into a tall glass, grabbed his shades and his phone, and stepped out onto his balcony. Between sips, he drew the ocean air into his lungs and absorbed as much of the visual expanse of the water as he could from his little slice of the sky.

All the usual excuses lined up and knocked on the door to Emmett's conscience, waiting for the invitation to placate him, but Emmett was having none of that. Tired arm, sloppy fielding, bad calls, wah, wah, wah . . . one by one, Emmett shoved them off his balcony.

The beach was humming with early-morning joggers and families with young kids. He checked the time—8:25. Edward would be down there now, tightening his laces and stretching his calves, getting ready to run alone because his running partner was acting like a pussy. _If he only knew the real reason keeping me away._

Emmett rolled his shoulder a few times, testing out the socket to see how bad it was. A few Advil and an ice pack might help. Yes, that was definitely one option for the next hour of his life . . .

"Fuck it!" Emmett turned from the railing and marched his sorry ass inside. _Enough with the pity party! _Ten minutes later, he was dressed and out the door.

Praying that Spock hadn't suddenly become unpredictable, Emmett set off on their usual route, taking off at his pre-Edward clip. Emmett soon caught the bounce of Edward's telltale blondish-reddish-brownish hair jogging about fifty yards ahead of him. He turned on the steam, closing the distance between them in no time.

Running up alongside Edward, Emmett fell into stride. "Hey."

Edward's shocked expression quickly melted into a smile. "Hi. What are you doing down here? I thought you were nursing your wounds."

"I changed my mind."

"You're not doing this on my account, I hope!"

"Not at all," Emmett answered. "I decided a run was exactly what I needed to shake myself out of my pissy mood."

Edward grinned. "Usually works for me."

With nothing further to say, they jogged along in silence, with the exception of the few fans who shouted out to Emmett along the way. Emmett relaxed into Edward's pace, kicking out his legs in front of him and enjoying the simple companionship of a friend at his elbow. His mind flashed back to the close quarters of the elevator car, how anxious Edward had seemed compared to this carefree man running next to him.

As they reached their usual turnaround, Edward asked, "Ready to head back?"

"No, I mean, if you have time, I'd like to push out a little further today."

"Sure. Say when, okay?"

Emmett angled his head toward Edward. "You could go for miles, couldn't you?"

"Yep. The sand makes it a little more challenging, but as long as I stay loose, it's pretty much like breathing for me."

"Ahh, staying loose." Emmett huffed. "The secret to life."

"Don't forget pacing."

"Right."

They jogged on for what probably amounted to another mile before Emmett signaled to turn back. "I wish I had my swim trunks," he said. "The ocean looks so inviting right now."

"We should do that sometime."

Their little jaunt on the beach was starting to feel an awful lot like Trey's guided meditation. All that was missing was the hand-holding. Emmett allowed himself a split-second to imagine it . . . slowing to a walk, letting his arm drop to his side, casually bumping into Edward's, then sliding his palm into place and curling his fingers around Edward's . . .

Edward's voice broke his reverie. "Never thought I'd hear myself say this to you, but I think you need to pick it up a little. You lost your rhythm there for a minute. Or are you getting tired? I know you had a rough night—"

"I'm fine."

Reading Emmett's mood, Edward quickly shifted off the topic of last night's game. "So . . . swimming? Yes, no?"

An inspired parade of tight, wet bathing suits marched through Emmett's head, but with so many delicious unknowns about Edward's body, he couldn't properly fill in the blanks. And now he was curious as hell what style Edward wore—something conservative, he guessed—but finding out could be so much fun. "Sounds good, but just so you know, I can't swim any significant distance, for obvious reasons."

"Of course! I get it."

"The ocean's good for my shoulder though. Trey will love you even more when I tell him."

Edward's smile stretched across his face. "I don't suppose he happens to be gay."

_Of course, the trainer fantasy would fit hand-in-hand with the locker room fetish! _Emmett did his best to quell the green-eyed monster who'd just reared his ugly head. "Not unless he's cheating on his girlfriend."

"Oh well."

_Tell me about it._ Trey was a living, breathing Ken doll, an unfortunate circumstance Emmett tried not to think about while he was stretched out naked on the guy's table getting his deep tissue massaged. With the breeziest tone Emmett could muster, he said, "Yeah, probably best to let that one go."

"Story of my life." Edward had mumbled so softly, Emmett wasn't sure the words were meant for his ears.

That didn't stop his response from rushing out. "Pshh, tell me about it."

"What?" Edward's head jerked around toward Emmett. _"You?"_

_Oops. _Going for nonchalant, Emmett tossed out a generic, "Don't we all have that one-who-got-away story?"

Edward was still looking at Emmett as if he'd sprouted a second head. "I wouldn't think _you_ would have that problem. You could get anyone you want."

A warm tingle filled Emmett's cheeks, and he prayed his heated blush would be mistaken for exertion. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

Edward shook his head and laughed. "Sorry, that was awkward, wasn't it? I just . . . ugh!"

Emmett's heart rate was jumping all over the place, and he was having a hell of a time keeping any kind of tempo. Figuring Edward wouldn't be comfortable having this conversation face-to-face—and despite any self-preservation instincts that should have kicked in, Emmett definitely wanted to have this conversation—he sucked it up and continued running and chattering. "You obviously don't know me well enough yet."

Edward chuckled. "You're probably right."

"Dude, you weren't supposed to agree with that!"

"I didn't mean it the way you think!" He shook his head and moaned. "Maybe I'll just bury myself in this sand right here. You can dig me out in a week when my face turns back to its normal shade."

Off-balance Edward was out in full force, and every inch of Emmett's body was standing up to take notice. He had no right to press, but that wasn't about to stop Emmett McCarty from getting what he wanted. "So, what _did _you mean?"

_I'm just giving the lad a chance to explain himself._

Edward faced forward while he gathered his thoughts. When he started talking again, Emmett detected a note of reluctance, or maybe it was fear. "At the risk of completely humiliating myself yet again, what I meant was I still have trouble seeing you clearly, you know, as a mortal being without the whole 'Big Mac' aspect getting in the way."

A clipped snicker escaped Emmett. "My recent outings on the mound should help with that."

"That's a blip," Edward answered dismissively.

These high expectations of his were not gonna help Emmett snap out of his explosive tendencies on the mound. "I'm quite mortal. Trust me."

"I know. I'm sorry for the whole hero worship thing. I'm just being honest."

Guilt burrowed deep inside Emmett's gut. If only he could be so devastatingly honest. _Must be nice. _"You don't have to apologize for any of that. It's flattering as hell—as grossly distorted as it is."

Edward snorted. "I shouldn't admit this, but there's still a huge part of me that pinches myself every time you show up."

Emmett turned to look at the man beside him. Poor Edward, bright red to the tips of his ears, gaze fixed on his feet. "I'm glad I showed up today, then."

Finally, Edward found the courage to meet Emmett's gaze. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Ah...showing up. Speaking of which, I've showed up at the Twific Meetup in Philadelphia, and I'm here prancing among readers, writers, betas, and a whole lot of crazy! I won't get to your reviews before Sunday, but I will read and relish each one-trust me.

Emmett's beating himself up pretty hard, and I have a feeling some of you might jump on the bandwagon, too...but let's not forget he has everything to lose. Ah...ain't love grand? *wink*  
**XXX ~BOH**


	20. Chapter 20

**XXX CHAPTER 20 XXX**

A home run in the ninth inning against Tampa Bay brought the Mariners' eight-game losing streak to a grinding halt, and a celebration was in order. The back room at Lotus Flower came alive with laughter and animated conversation—the sounds of men waking from a long, nightmare-riddled sleep.

Emmett could not have been happier for the "W" and the break in tension, but as the pitcher who could clip the winning streak to one with his appearance on the mound tomorrow, he kept his enthusiasm on a tight leash. He finished off the Sapporo he'd been nursing all night and cracked open a fortune cookie, tossing the paper insert into the bowl without looking at it.

"You're not gonna read that?" Martinez asked.

"Nope."

"Aren't you even a little bit curious? Maybe it's a message about tomorrow's game."

_Or about my doomed love life. _"I think I'd rather be surprised."

Tomlinson grabbed the fortune, scanned it, and broke out into a wide grin. "Now _this _is profound."

"Fine," Emmett said with a sigh. "What's it say?"

"When hungry, order more Chinese food."

"Thanks. I'll carry that with me along this journey we call life."

Tomlinson clinked his beer bottle against Emmett's. "You do that, bro."

Emmett's phone buzzed in his pocket, and with a twinge of disappointment, he hit answer.

"Hey, Tam. Let me get where I can hear you."

Waving his phone at Fuller, Emmett said, "Be right back," as he stepped outside the restaurant.

"You okay?" Emmett asked into the phone.

"Yeah. Sorry to bother you. I didn't want to call too late. I know you're on tomorrow."

"Yep. What's going on?"

"I, uh . . . shit, this is weird."

"Tam?"

"All of a sudden, it feels like we were actually a couple and I'm actually breaking up with you."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Aw, no worries. I'll just have to go out and scrounge up some new eye candy."

The tension broke, and Tammy's rich laughter spilled into his ear. "Gee, you really know how to turn a girl's head."

"That's not really my area of expertise."

"So I noticed."

Emmett chuckled, putting the pieces together. "Does this mean that photographer you were flirting with at the gala . . . Is he _hitting_ on you?"

"Oh brother. Are you jealous now?" Amusement seeped into her voice, and Emmett could picture her standing there, hand on hip, rolling her eyes at him.

"No. I just don't want you with some douche nozzle who thinks it's okay to hit on another guy's girl."

"Damn, you really are the sweetest non-boyfriend a girl could hope for. No, he's not hitting on me. He friended me on Facebook, and we've chatted a little. Very innocent, nothing inappropriate, I promise. I'd just really like to explore this and see if there's anything there, which obviously isn't going to happen with Big Mac looming large."

Emmett recognized in her voice what he'd been experiencing for the last four weeks—that magical flutter of possibility. "You are hereby released from beard duty. Now go forth and get your photographer. And keep me posted."

Tammy let out a soft sigh. "Thanks, Em. I guess we'll need to work out some kind of story to tell."

"Yeah, we'll figure it out."

"Hey, how's yours going anyway?"

Emmett craned his neck to check that the coast was clear. Leaning his back against the wall of the restaurant, he cradled his phone closer and spoke softly. "Good and bad, I guess."

"What does that mean?"

"We're getting to be pretty good friends."

Tammy chuckled. "Is that the good part or the bad part?"

Emmett tipped his head to the night sky, searching for answers in the black infinity. "Yes."

"How messed up are you, my friend?"

"Pretty fucking."

"Do you think he knows how you feel?"

"Honestly, I don't. He's told me he's gay, and he's made some insanely flattering comments, but nothing the least bit flirtatious."

"He's probably worried he'll lose your friendship . . . or his front teeth."

"Maybe."

"So you think he'd be game if you make the first move?"

"That seems highly likely." He pinched his eyes closed with his fingers. "Ugh, it's getting harder and harder to be with him and at the same time, I've become addicted to his presence in my life."

Tammy let out a huff. "Yeah, I'm familiar with that sentiment."

"Shit, Tammy, I'm sorry."

"Oh, stop apologizing. It's not your fault I fell for you, and I'm gonna be just fine."

"Well, that's one worry I can cross off my list."

"You can. Now . . . back to your fucked up love life."

Emmett chuckled into the phone. "Yes, because this is so much fun."

"How bad do you think it would be, really? It's 2014. Same-sex marriage is legal now in almost half the states. Michael Sam—"

"Yeah, Tam. I've been telling myself all those things for the last month. And then I remind myself my contract is up after this season. The better part of valor would be to bide my time, see how my numbers pan out, put my best foot forward at the negotiating table. I've waited twenty-six years; I suppose I can wait another few months."

"Few months? It could be almost a year! Not to mention . . ."

"What?"

"You're all twitchy."

It was an irrational response, but Emmett scanned the area again. "How do you know? Are you watching me on a webcam or something?"

"No, fool. There's this new invention called a television?"

"Are you talking about my _pitching_?" Emmett punctuated his question with a hefty degree of back-off, but his best friend had never been one to shrink from the truth—probably the main reason he'd always trusted her judgment. Right now, though, he really wasn't in the mood for a man-on-the-street opinion about his performance.

"Emmett, listen to me," she said, her voice unwavering but gentle. "If you're out to protect your career, maybe you should consider the possibility that denying your feelings is doing more harm than good."

He pulled the phone from his ear and rested it against his thigh. Angry responses were fighting to get out, and he knew better than to let them. Drawing in a few deep breaths of Florida air, Emmett regained control.

"I gotta go. The guys are piling out, and I've got a long day ahead of me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know."

XXX

Emmett's day didn't start well. He'd found himself staring at the clock as the hour switched from five to six, envious of Fuller and his ability to sleep like the dead. His pre-breakfast run through the streets of St. Petersburg left him cranky and drained, his mind a whorl of anxiety and unchecked frustration. Most of the team was crowded into one hotel room playing video games and watching pay-per-view. The bus wasn't leaving for the stadium for another two hours, and Emmett thought he'd go berserk if he watched another movie.

His phone buzzed with a new text, and he pulled it lazily out of his pocket. **_Kick some Ray ass. _**Emmett chuckled; his sister didn't mince words. He scrolled through his texts, the usual suspects offering him well wishes on his outing. They were all there—Mom, Dad, his agent, Tammy, Jas, Alice, a few of his buddies from UCLA—but each one left him feeling empty and tense. There was only one person he really wanted to hear from today, and he'd effectively scared the guy away on game day.

Like the fat kid opening the lid on the cookie jar, Emmett clicked open his Twitter account. Edward's tweet wasn't hard to find among the few Emmett followed: **ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The inevitable winning and losing streaks add an extra element of excitement.**

The retweets were chock full of MacPerfect hashtags and encouraging messages about keeping the winning streak alive. Wonderful. With a knot in his stomach the size of a baseball, Emmett typed a message to Edward. **Just the kind of excitement I need!**

**Hey! You're here?**

**Bored out of my mind. You try being holed up with eight guys in a room with two beds and a tiny love seat.**

The moment he hit send, Emmett realized his error. Cringing, he awaited Edward's response.

**Doesn't sound too awful to me.**

Typical Edward—honest to a fault. Come to think of it, under different circumstances, Emmett wouldn't have found the situation awful either. **Hate to burst your bubble, but everyone's dressed.**

**Way to ruin it for me!**

Emmett chuckled out loud, looking around sheepishly to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, his teammates were all deeply absorbed in their own devices, and nobody much cared what Emmett was doing or who was making him laugh.

**Sorry, dude. **

**Did you run this morning?**

Emmett briefly considered the can of worms he might be opening, but typed his response anyway. **Yes. Not my best.**

**Uh oh. Can I help?**

The offer was surprisingly comforting. Whatever yearning had prompted Emmett to start this conversation, Edward seemed to have a knack for satisfying it. Could he help? Truth was, Edward already had, just by being on the other side of his screen.

**Juggle for me?**

**Sure. Hang on—let me grab the flaming swords.**

With a great deal of difficulty, Emmett let the "flaming" reference slide. **Careful, Coach. Don't want to catch your jersey on fire.**

**No worries. I'm not dressed.**

**YOU'RE JUGGLING NAKED? **Emmett shifted on his corner of the bed, instantly regretting not having this conversation alone in his room. **Now, that IS entertaining!**

**Hey, whatever works. :)**

**As a matter of fact, I am feeling a little more relaxed.**

**Excellent! So, aside from singeing my three chest hairs, anything else I can do?**

_Fuck me! A smooth chest. _Emmett took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Edward's pretty pictures were stirring things up—things that were better left unstirred at the moment.

Setting aside the clown routine and the perilous imagery, Emmett considered Edward's offer. After all, he'd reached out to Edward for a reason, even if he wasn't fully clear about what he needed. Emmett agreed with both Jasper and Tammy; Edward was the cause of his tension. Was it possible Edward might also be the solution?

Maybe it was time to find out.

**I guess I could use a bit of your voice in my head tonight.**

**Oh! Sure. I'm honored. Did you want me to sprinkle my sage advice here, or should I call you?**

_Call me? _That wasn't exactly what Emmett had in mind. Certainly not now, not here. Messaging would be safer by far. Emmett could take his time, moderate his thoughts, delete before sending. His oral filter wasn't quite that reliable.

"Sprinkle away," Emmett typed and erased. How much more effective Edward's _actual_ voice in his head would be! **Gimme ten minutes to get away from these happy idiots, and I'll call you.**

**Sure. I'll be here.**

**And put some clothes on! **Emmett wasn't sure how Edward would take that last bit, but the words flew from his fingertips and off they went. Huh, so much for moderation. He shoved his phone into his pocket without waiting for the response.

"Someone knock on my door when it's time for lunch," Emmett said to no one in particular as he headed for the door.

Five minutes later, Emmett was stretched out on his bed, phone in hand. Part of him hoped Edward would say something helpful, because Lord knows he needed it. Then there was the other part of him that suspected he'd be hopelessly addicted if this actually made a difference.

_Coaching is coaching,_ Emmett concluded while dialing, steeling himself for Edward's answer.

"Hello, number sixty-nine." Right off the bat, Edward had him chuckling.

"Hey, Coach. You ready to impart some pearls of wisdom?"

"I'll try. Can you describe the problem I'm trying to help you solve?"_ Ever the mathematician_.

Emmett closed his eyes and imagined the two of them jogging along the beach. "I need you to slow me down."

"Ah, okay. Did you happen to know you're the best early game pitcher in the league by every meaningful measure?"

"Actually, no. I didn't. Did you just make that up?"

"Nope. That's factual. You're doing something very well at the beginning of your games, and for some reason that falls apart as you get into the later innings. Are you aware of the shift?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's your thought process when you first take the mound?"

Edward deserved an honest answer, though revealing his thoughts wasn't easy for Emmett. "Lately, it's been this irritating guy running behind me, tugging me back when I get out of control."

Edward laughed. "I've always wanted to stand on the pitcher's mound. Okay, so what happens to this annoying bastard? Why is he not with you later in the game?"

"It's harder to hold back as you get deeper into the game, especially when my team falls behind. I shake off the bastard so I can break free."

"Yeah, you do that when we run, too."

"I do?"

"Mmhmm. The run back after the turnaround is always quicker, which is counterintuitive because your muscles are fatigued."

"Tell me about it," Emmett said, rubbing his shoulder.

"What if every inning you go out there becomes the first? Picture yourself running toward the bend where we turn around, rather than heading home. And whatever you do, keep that irritating guy with you!"

"Could get crowded out there."

"I'm guessing you already have a few other voices in your head as well."

Emmett chuckled. "You could say that. I like this, though. It's simple. I'll give it a shot tonight."

Emmett could hear Edward smiling through the phone. "I hope it helps. Let me know, okay?"

"Yeah, talk tomorrow?"

"Sure, whenever you like."

That evening, Emmett followed his new coach's advice. The irritating, annoying bastard stuck with him through all 120 pitches, holding the Rays to one run against the Mariners' three. When Emmett was relieved in the eighth inning, he jogged to the dugout feeling loose and relaxed, with nothing more than a twinge of discomfort in his shoulder and another "W" for his stats.

* * *

**Author's Note:** *singsong voice* Somebody's getting addicted!

Twific meetup was an absolute blast! I HIGHLY recommend the experience to all of you! What a kick to hang out in a room with a bunch of ladies who have the same crazy passion for this story and this universe...but ultimately, they're just really great gals who know how to have fun! What a kick to finally meet some of you lovelies in person and reconnect with familiar faces. I'll be floating for a while...

I shall see you all on Friday...oh, and the 7th review is going to put us at 1000 so WHEEEE! :*  
**XXX ~BOH**


	21. Chapter 21

**XXX CHAPTER 21 XXX**

The Mariners milled about the private terminal, catching last-minute snippets of phone conversations with wives, girlfriends, and kids while the ground crew fueled their jet. The extended road trips were hardest on the newlyweds, and no other professional sports team traveled as many miles as the Seattle Mariners, with their nearest opponent 600 miles away. Between the travel and the anti-batter reputation of Safeco, the Mariners suffered a long history of trouble attracting and keeping talented players happy.

That wasn't an issue right now for Big Mac McCarty; he was one happy pitcher this morning, and he was itching to share his victory with the man who'd helped make it happen. Time zones weren't Emmett's friend right now, though. Back home it was . . . ugh, 6:38 a.m, and it was almost time to board.

With no better option, Emmett shot Edward a quick text. **We did it, Coach! Heading to Houston soon. Text me when you're awake. **Before sliding his phone into his pocket, Emmett sent one last message: **Thank you.**

His phone buzzed before he let go. **I'm awake. **

Finding himself a private corner, Emmett dialed Edward's number, grinning when Edward picked up.

"You've reached the annoying bastard. Please leave a message."

"You're up early."

"I'm not up, just awake."

_Edward is lying in bed. Perfect. _

"Tell me about last night," Edward said, his voice still sounding sleepy.

"Easy as a ten-dollar hooker. It was the first inning all night long. Never once felt tight . . . reminded me of my college days."

"That's really fantastic, Emmett. I'm so happy for you. What'd Trey have to say?"

Emmett chuckled. Poor Edward wasn't quite letting go of his little crush on Trey. "He wants to have your babies."

"Perfect. My work here is done."

"Are you kidding? Your work has just begun! You're not just my running coach anymore; you're my pre-game guru. Hope you're up for the task."

Edward's joyous laughter pumped into Emmett's ear. "Wow. On call morning and night? You're lucky I don't start work until August."

"August, huh? I might have to have a chat with your boss and see if I can push that back to mid-October. I plan to take this team to the World Series."

"Do you, now?"

"I don't see why not."

"If anyone can, it's you, Emmett."

Emmett swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Your confidence in me is . . ."

"Well-founded. Infinite. Contagious, I hope."

"I was thinking more along the lines of outlandish."

"Not at all. It's completely logical."

"Of course it is. I almost forgot I was speaking to a Vulcan."

"_Half-_Vulcan, or I wouldn't be so happy for you right now."

"Right." Emmett had practiced what he was about to say, but still, his tongue suddenly felt thick and unwilling to cooperate. He forged ahead because the alternative—sitting on a plane for the next two hours berating himself for wussing out—was not an option. "I'd like to show my appreciation by taking you out to dinner this Thursday, if that's okay."

A long pause followed Emmett's offer. Emmett stood, giving his heart more distance to plummet. Had Edward seen through the thinly veiled excuse? Had he pegged Emmett for the coward he was? Emmett dragged his sweaty palms one at a time across his shorts, switching the phone from the left ear to the right to no avail. Edward wasn't speaking into either.

"Hello? Did I lose you?" Emmett checked his phone—still connected.

"No."

"No, I didn't lose you or no, I can't buy you dinner?"

"No, I'm still here. Sorry, I was pinching myself again."

Emmett rolled his eyes to the ceiling. _Jesus, this guy was putting him through the wringer. _"So that's a yes, then?"

"Sure, I mean, if you want. Don't you usually have dinner with your sister's family on your day off? I don't want to mess anything up."

"I'll take Sawyer to the batting cage after lunch. He'll like that better anyway."

"What a lucky boy."

"Nah, I'm a lucky uncle. He's a great kid. They're calling us to board now. I gotta run. Oh, and Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop pinching yourself. You're gonna get all bruised up."

XXX

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Every field is a unique slice of Americana.**

**Yes, and Minute Maid is the most hitter-friendly slice of Americana in the league. Thanks, but no thanks! Bring back the Astrodome!**

**What are you complaining about? You're not pitching in Houston!**

**I'm partial to Safeco. Plus life on the road isn't exactly what it's cracked up to be.**

**So you've said. Although I'm still a bit stuck on the 8 guys + 2 beds equation.**

Emmett laughed out loud, and Fuller looked over and gave him a glare.

"Sorry, man, did I interrupt your channel surfing? Carry on."

"Why don't you just go in the bathroom or something if you want to sexy-text your girlfriend?"

"Classy." This was the moment. He and Tammy had worked out their story, and there was no better time than the present. "Tammy and I broke up."

Fuller's hand froze in midair, the TV blessedly settling on one channel. "Shit. Sorry." Fuller turned back to the television and clicked about ten more times before his conscience got the better of him. "You want to talk or something?"

Emmett grinned at the terrified look in Fuller's eyes. "No, thank you. I'll live."

"Okay." Much relieved, Fuller let go of his tight breath and clicked the remote a few more times until he found something he liked.

Emmett turned back to his iPad. **Right now, the math is 2 beds + 2 guys.**

**Who's your roommate? **Edward fired back immediately.

**Fuller.**

**Yeah? He seems like a good guy. Do you two get along well?**

**Most of the time. He's a little freaked out right now.**

**Do I want to know why?**

_I don't know, Edward. Do you? _Bombs away! **I just told him Tammy and I split, and he's afraid to look at me. **

**Wow. Sorry to hear that.**

**That he won't look at me?**

**No! You're exasperating! Are you okay?**

Emmett was laughing again and starting to feel giddy. He'd nicked away at half of the lie, and damn, did it feel liberating! **Yes, thanks. I'm okay.**

**Weren't you and Tammy together for a while?**

_He knows exactly how long we've been together. _**Yes, over 2 years.**

**Long time! **_Come on, Edward. Cast your line a little farther, and see if you get any nibbles. _**I'm here if you want to talk.**

**Not much to say. We're friends. No drama, no scenes, no cheating.**

**That's good. The last thing you need is a disruption.**

_Tell me about it, Mr. Disruption. _**So true.**

**Did this happen before you pitched Sunday?**

**Yes. Sat. night.**

**Wow. You pitched your best game in 4 outings right afterward? Pretty damn impressive.**

**They pay me to pitch. Nobody cares about my love life.**

**I do.**

Emmett jerked away from his iPad as if the thing had bitten him. He'd give anything to see Edward's face right now. Had he typed those words slowly and thoughtfully and sent them with great purpose? Or was he hasty with his response and now regretting it? Or neither? Maybe he was simply referring to his new role in Emmett's pre-game routine.

Seeing as Emmett would respond completely differently to all of the scenarios, he really would've liked to know. And as the seconds turned to minutes, the awkward chasm grew between them. Emmett considered a wide variety of responses ranging from sweet to sarcastic before typing, **Thanks.** He figured Edward could fit that to match his own meaning.

**Would you like me to stop pestering you about it? I'm not trying to be nosy.**

**I know. It's okay. Not a sensitive topic. As I said, we're friends. We talked it out and decided we both deserved better. **

**She sounds like a highly rational woman.**

**Yes, one of her best qualities. She and Spock would get along quite well.**

**I'm afraid she's not my type.**

Edward's last message caused Emmett to laugh so hard, he nearly slammed his head against the wall. How tragic would that be? Tammy running from Emmett straight into the arms of another gay man—none other than the man Emmett wanted!

**Truth be told, I think she's got her eye on someone already, so don't worry.**

**Ouch.**

**Whatever.**

**Well, for what it's worth, I'm sure you have a long line of women to choose from.**

Emmett was about done with the false front. At this point, the only way to tell no lies was to stop talking. **Good pep talk, Coach. Talk tomorrow?**

XXX

**I don't get it. I thought one game of chess was supposed to take hours. That last game took all of 12 minutes. **

**Don't get discouraged, Emmett. You're getting better!**

**Really? How can you tell? **

**It took me five moves to get your queen that time.**

**Go me!**

**You have time for another game?**

**Sure...unless you slip up and it takes you too long to beat me.**

**The length of our games is purely a function of how well you strategize.**

**Huh, maybe it's a function of how good a teacher you are and how quickly I improve. **Teasing Edward had quickly become Emmett's favorite new pastime, but only because Edward so quickly took the bait each time.

**HA! So I'm screwed either way? If I win quickly, it means I'm a poor teacher?**

**Now you're catching on, Prof. You do know the ultimate test, right?**

**Please enlighten me.**

Visualizing the eye roll Emmett had no doubt just received stretched his grin even wider. **When I finally beat you, you will have reached the pinnacle of chess coachinghood.**

**That's impossible. I might as well resign right now. You're not ever going to beat me at chess. **

**You're awfully sure of your skills.**

**On the contrary. I merely admitted I'm not a good enough teacher!**

Emmett's grin grew into a full-on belly laugh, but nobody was paying any attention to him in the corner of the room. **Touché! You remind me of that conundrum—if God is all-powerful, can He make a rock so heavy He can't lift it?**

**So I'm God in this story?**

**Yes, and I'm the one with rocks in my head.**

**Hardly. You plot out your battle plan every time you pitch. I have to believe you're always several steps ahead of your batter.**

**On a good night, yes.**

**Same thing with chess.**

**But you keep messing up my plan! **Understatement of the night.

As Edward filled Emmett's iPad screen with lessons about short-term tactics versus long-term strategy, Emmett could only imagine the animation on his friend's face. This was a conversation better held in person, where Emmett could experience firsthand the passion for the game flaring out of Edward's sexy green eyes. He pictured the two of them lazing on Emmett's bed, naked and relaxed with the chess board between them, the hours stretching in front of them, a roaring fire at the foot of the bed . . .

**That's where knowing your opponent comes into play. You've got to jump inside his head.**

Oh, Professor, if you only knew what was going on inside my head right now . . . **Sorry, Edward. I have to pack up now. Looks like that next game will have to wait. **

**No problem. **

**See you tomorrow night at Capital Grille.**

**Looking forward to it. Safe flight home.**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Looks like they're about to have another non-date! :)

Looking for a fantastic read? Check out Planetblue's _Crazy Like That._..she has my head spinning right now!  
In the mood for a sweeter Bella? Shadow Masen's _Come Back Tomorrow_ will keep YOU coming back for more!  
Both stories are climaxing now at a laptop near you! Enjoy!

Have a happy, safe Fourth of July, all!

**XXX ~BOH**


	22. Chapter 22

**XXX CHAPTER 22 XXX**

_This is not a date. _Emmett's reflection in the rear-view mirror rolled its eyes.

"I know, fucker."

_Then, why do I have the first-date jitters?_

"Pull yourself together, Mac." Emmett gave himself one final, stern glare before opening the car door. He was five minutes early, but he knew Edward would be waiting.

And there he was. Emmett's breath caught in his throat as Edward turned and smiled at him. Jesus, the man knew how to wear a black button-down, untucked over gray slacks that fit him snug in all the right places, and the collar open just far enough for Emmett to glimpse those three chest hairs Edward had left him wondering about. And if Emmett wasn't mistaken, Edward was giving him a nice, hard look back.

"Hey!" _Damn_, the way Edward's whole face lit up when he smiled just now. "Welcome home." Edward offered his hand, and Emmett grasped it with gusto.

Clasping Edward's shoulder, Emmett pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Good to be home," he said, trying not to swoon as Edward's after-shave wafted over him.

"Mr. McCarty, I have your table for you whenever you're ready."

"We're ready."

Edward followed the maître-d' while Emmett brought up—and ogled—the rear.

"Hope you're hungry."

"Pretty much always," Edward answered over his shoulder.

As they paraded through the restaurant, Emmett noticed the usual raising of eyebrows and that momentary flash of "Wow, look who's here!" Of course, there was also the usual neck craning business to get a glimpse of his companion. Emmett shuddered to think what he'd do now without Tammy as an alibi. He waved and smiled and shook hands, and by the time he reached their table, Edward was already seated.

"I'm sorry about that—occupational hazard."

"Don't be. Your fans love you, as well they should." Edward unrolled his napkin, grinning as he pulled out the steak knife and fork. "Now _these _are utensils!"

"Damn, I should've told them to put chopsticks in yours!" Emmett was smiling so hard his face hurt. For a couple of guys who weren't dating, they were doing a pretty decent job building a repertoire of little inside jokes.

"I wouldn't put it past you!"

Emmett opened the wine menu and peeked around at Edward. "What are you drinking? Should we get a nice bottle of cab?"

"I'll help you finish off a bottle if that's what you want, or I'm more than happy with a cocktail."

"Eh, let's save the wine for another time." _Like a real date, when I don't have to pitch two days later. _

Emmett signaled for the waiter, who took their drink orders and turned to leave. "Hang on one sec. Edward, do you like calamari?"

"Sure."

"We'll take an order of calamari while we look at the menu."

"Certainly, sir. I'll put that right in for you."

Edward was leaning back in his chair with a contented smile plastered on his face. "You don't get much of a chance to let loose, do you?"

Emmett shrugged. "Not during the season, but hey, how many people get four months off their jobs every year?"

"I do," he answered with a chuckle. "Well, after this year, it'll only be two."

"True. Good thing you haven't started working yet. I don't think you'd have enough time for me and a full-time job."

Edward sipped at his water and set it down deliberately. "You're more of an adventure."

"Thank you."

They both chuckled, ignoring their menus and enjoying the easy banter. "You know, Emmett, there will come that day when I actually do have to go to my day job."

"Don't remind me," Emmett said, drawing a warm glow from Edward. "How about if I write a note to your boss? Dear Edward's boss, please excuse Edward from school so he can perform his duties as pitcher-whisperer today. Yours truly, Big Mac."

Edward busted up, quickly drawing his napkin to his mouth. "Um no, I don't think she'd appreciate that too much."

_Interesting. _"Got a hard-ass boss?"

"Let's just say she knows what she wants, and she knows how to get it."

"Well, clearly she wanted you."

Their Stoli Dolis arrived, giving Emmett a chance to sit back and appreciate the confident glint in Edward's eye. For a long moment, Emmett imagined Edward going all Spock in his interview, impressing the headmistress with his earnest ways. Or maybe she thought he was hot, not that it would do her a bit of good.

Emmett lifted his glass. "Cheers, to the man behind the man on the mound."

Edward grinned and clinked his glass with Emmett. "One of the many men behind the man on the mound."

"It does take a village." They paused to sip their drinks, but there were details Emmett needed to have filled in. "So, what'd you do, wow the woman with your epic statistical skills?"

"I don't know," he said, adding a dismissive wave. "I don't like tooting my own horn." _Oh, Edward, maybe you'll let me toot it for you one day. _

Emmett leaned forward, grabbing his water goblet to hide his smile. "Go on. Toot away."

He shrugged before continuing. "She said she was impressed with my dissertation."

A gooey, weak-in-the-knees sensation melted Emmett's insides. He could honestly say he'd never been attracted to anyone who'd written a dissertation before. "She read it?"

A little hint of mischief curled up the corners of Edward's lips. "She most likely skimmed it, but she got the gist."

"What's the gist?"

Without hesitation, Edward launched into his topic. There was no speaking down to Emmett or using gobbledygook he wouldn't understand. "The thesis was about translating models of mathematical reasoning for differently-abled learners, specifically at the elementary levels. I presented a variety of teaching techniques and illustrated how to customize the message to reach every type of student."

"Like you do with me."

_There _was the expression that nailed Emmett every damn time. That humble, quiet, fucking adorably shy blush. "You'd be the adult version, yes."

Emmett shook off the XXX-rated adult movie poster that flashed through his mind. "Huh. Well, you're good at it. Your boss must be a smart lady."

"A bit intimidating, but yes, very smart."

The waiter returned with the calamari. "Flag me down when you're ready to put in your order."

Emmett's gaze shifted across to Edward, who seemed perfectly content. "Thanks."

Edward slid a pile of calamari onto his bread plate and popped one of the fried rings into his mouth. "Mmm, that's fantastic."

"It's the peppers."

"You eat here a lot?"

"Not so much in the summer, but yeah, we like it."

They ate without speaking for a few minutes, Edward's eyes darting away from Emmett's each time they met.

"Why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?" Emmett asked. "Did you bite into something hot?"

Edward shrugged, picking at his calamari. "No. I didn't mean to bring up a painful topic."

"What top—_Oh!_ Tammy?"

"Sorry."

"Edward, I meant 'we, _the guys'_ like it. I told you before, I'm fine. You don't have to pussy-foot around me. I'm not gonna burst into tears—promise."

Still looking a bit sullen, Edward answered, "Okay."

"Hey, what about you?"

"What about me?" Edward looked up at him, completely clueless as to where Emmett was leading the conversation. And why the hell had he led the conversation here anyway?

_It's what guys do. Besides, it would be rude to make it all about me. _Whatever. There was no turning back now, as much as Emmett would've loved to.

Swirling his drink on its coaster, Emmett dangled his toe in the murky waters. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Edward turned as bright red as Emmett had ever seen him. "You're kind of all-encompassing."

_You are a selfish prick, McCarty, monopolizing this man's time and offering him nothing in return. _"I'm an asshole."

"What? No! Hell, you thought I was complaining?" Edward chuffed, lurching forward in his chair to close the distance between them. "Who could've ever imagined I'd be sitting here having dinner with Emmett McCarty, not to mention running with you every day? It's an unbelievable privilege to be in your orbit, and I wouldn't trade this experience for anything in the world. I hope you know I mean that, Emmett." Edward hovered over the table, tensed and waiting for Emmett's reassurance.

"Sure," Emmett answered thoughtfully, "as long as you promise to tell me if it all gets to be too much that I've commandeered all your free time."

Shaking his head, Edward relaxed back into his seat. "Have you forgotten my screen name?"

"How could I?"

"And that was before I met you. Now . . ." He trailed off, and Emmett prepared himself for another embarrassing revelation. "I realize now how little I actually knew about you as a person, though . . . _pshh_, I certainly _thought_ I knew you from all those facts and figures and media bytes I devoured. I have to tell you, Emmett, the way I had built you up in my head, it would've been very easy for you to disappoint me—and you haven't. Not once."

_And I can't. _Emmett cracked a wise-ass grin because the intensity of Edward's gaze and the weight of Edward's confession were getting to be more than he could handle. "I'm glad I wasn't aware of your lofty expectations."

Edward studied Emmett as if he were a tricky equation he hadn't encountered before. A smile slowly eased the hard line of his mouth as he picked up his menu, and Emmett followed suit.

"Holy shit, twenty-four ounces of meat? Who eats that?"

Emmett chuckled. "Have you seen some of the guys on our team? Besides, half of that's bone."

Emmett snuck a peek at Edward scanning the menu, the man's analytical mind hard at work.

"The sirloin sounds good," Edward said.

"If you want a sirloin, you have to try the kona rub. It's insane."

Setting down his menu, Edward grinned. "What if it keeps me awake?"

"You can hit me up for a game of chess."

With a sly grin, Edward said, "You mean five games."

Emmett shrugged, tilting his head for added effect. "Until your coaching gets better . . ."

"Ouch," Edward said. "Just remember, you asked for it when I wake you up with a text."

A smile took over Emmett's face, and there was not a thing he could do about it. The idea of Edward texting him at all hours of the night didn't compute with the man he'd come to know—the careful, considerate man who put Emmett's needs first in every situation. At the same time, the idea of such an intimate, late-night tête-à-tête made Emmett giddy. _Chess . . . intimate? You're a hot mess, Mac._

"All right, quit threatening me and help me decide what we're having for sides. Lobster mac 'n' cheese? Truffle fries?"

Edward's hand flew to his belly. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"What? We're gonna work it all off tomorrow."

"We'll have to run an extra five miles."

"You're just saying that to stay on Trey's good side."

"I'm not gonna lie; that's a huge plus."

Emmett chuffed. "How about a compromise? Lobster mac and asparagus."

"That's like putting fat-free frozen yogurt on top of a piece of triple chocolate cake."

"What's your point?"

"There's no reasoning with you."

"How many times do I have to remind you? Resistance is futile. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

If they'd been texting, Emmett would've failed to see Edward's expression, but here they were sharing a small—and let's face it, romantic—table for two with no place to hide. When Edward answered, Emmett read every nuance of sincerity in his features. "Actually, I have."

Deep inside Emmett's belly, the spark of hope found oxygen and burned brighter.

A small army of servers delivered steaming plates and bowls, and the ritual of cutting into steaks to check the temperature was performed. Taking a forkful of lobster mac, Edward quizzed him about his day. "How was your afternoon with your nephew?"

"Fantastic. The kid's got a great swing. Wish I could harness that."

"You're not a bad hitter."

Emmett guffawed, nearly spewing a macaroni noodle across the table. "I'm a horrible hitter."

Giving him a massive eye roll, Edward said, "Your sacrifice stats are in the top ten—"

"Among pitchers!"

"—and your batting average is completely respectable."

"What you're saying is, I'm a pretty good hitter—for a pitcher!"

"Well, yeah."

"You know, you're quite the spin doctor. I think you could twist the numbers to say anything you want."

"Interpreting statistics is definitely an art form."

"You are a man of many talents, Edward Cullen."

Edward sliced off a corner of his steak, grinning as he brought it toward his mouth. "And you haven't even seen me juggle yet."

As he chewed, that glint stayed put in Edward's eye, leaving Emmett to wonder. With all the talk of Edward getting to know him, Emmett hadn't really considered how well he knew Edward. The man seemed to be an open book, but still, you had to ask the right questions.

And of course, the biggest question of all weighed heavy on Emmett's heart: _Will you want me?_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Welp, was that a date or a non-date? I'm all about the Stoli Doli, personally, and Mr. H does love that kona rub, don't ya, honey? (Truth be told, he is a fan of most rubs *wink*)

I am loving all your theories and greedy, impatient, grabby-hands reviews! MWAH!  
**XXX ~BOH**


	23. Chapter 23

**XXX CHAPTER 23 XXX**

Determined to beat Edward to the beach for once, Emmett set his alarm for 7:30 and hopped out of bed without hitting snooze even once. He was tempted to jump in the shower but settled for sniffing under each arm to make sure he wasn't too offensive. He did, however, run a brush through his hair and make sure any remnants of green smoothie were long rinsed away.

Pulling on his trunks, Emmett tried to remember the last time he'd swum in the ocean. As much as he loved it, his summer days off were few and far between, and his fame had a way of sucking the peace out of the experience. Today might not be any different, but Edward had suggested a change of pace for game day, and after their hard post-Capital-Grille run the day before, Emmett was happy to give it a try. Also, Edward in a bathing suit . . . Edward in a bathing suit . . . fuck peace! Sliding into his flip-flops, Emmett grabbed a towel and his Oakleys, and off he went.

Emmett grinned as he reached their usual meeting spot at 8:15. No sign of Edward. _Finally!_ It didn't take long before Emmett attracted a small crowd wishing him well and offering him colorful tips on how to beat the Red Sox that night. Through the blur of people, Emmett spotted Edward, patiently waiting on the sidelines.

"Sorry, folks, I have to run. See you at the game tonight!" The horde of fans parted for him, and Emmett jogged over to Edward, taking in the Mariners t-shirt and sexy, short, black swim trunks peeking out underneath. "How long were you planning on standing there?"

Edward shrugged. "I figured you'd be done when you were done, and I'd be here."

"I was done as soon as you got here. C'mon! The crowds won't follow us into the ocean."

Emmett led him to a slice of beach where they could throw down their towels and shirts. Edward reached over his head and grabbed the back of his shirt, giving Emmett a chance to ogle the sliver of bare skin at his belly that became an entire lean runner's chest revealed in one swift motion. Very nearly caught staring, Emmett quickly angled his body toward the water to pull off his own shirt. Not trusting himself to look back at Edward's extremely brief swim briefs, Emmett made his way toward the surf. The cool water pooled around his ankles, sending a shiver up his legs.

"Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea?"

Edward chuckled beside him. "Don't be such a baby. It's good for you."

"Don't make me toss you under."

"I don't think Trey would approve of you hurling large objects on game day."

"Or any other day, for that matter."

"Plus, ya know, he likes me."

Emmett shook his head while he laughed. "Lead the way, Coach."

Edward gave him a mischievous grin and took off. Three running leaps and a dive, and Edward's tempting little ass disappeared into the water. Not to be outdone, Emmett dove in after him, meeting Edward's huge grin just past where he could touch bottom.

"See? That wasn't so bad."

"I'll ask my balls how they feel about it if they ever descend again."

"You'll warm up when we start moving. Can I trust you to lead? I don't know what you need."

_What I need is to wrap my legs around your hips and find out how those pretty lips taste._

"I'm just looking to stretch out, nothing too fatiguing."

"Why don't you swim until you've had enough, and then we can walk back."

"On the water?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "I think we're gonna need a new hashtag for that."

"All right, then. Follow me." Emmett started out with a slow breast stroke, finding a gentle pace, with Edward trailing in his wake. Edward was right; the water cleared Emmett's head better than running on the crowded beach could ever do. No distractions, no obligations to play nice with the fans, just Emmett and the expanse of water surrounding him . . . and the man watching his back.

He switched to freestyle, using his mental energy to draw in oxygen while keeping the salty water out as much as he was able. After a stretch, Emmett flipped onto his back, largely to rid his mouth of the salt, and backstroked for a bit. Edward swam up beside him, pulling his arms gracefully through the water, making Emmett feel like a manatee in comparison. After a few strokes, Emmett realized what Edward was doing. He hadn't caught up just to keep him company; he was slowing Emmett down, helping him conserve his energy and his lungs exactly the way he'd done so many times on the beach. Right now, he was watching Emmett the same way Trey kept a vigilant eye on him while he lifted. Edward had no specific training in this field, yet he seemed to have an uncanny knack for understanding Emmett's body. Once again, Emmett wished fervently to return the favor.

Any other day, Emmett might've pushed himself further and harder, but he'd accomplished his goal for the swim, and he was beginning to pucker like a giant raisin. Rolling onto his belly, Emmett turned toward the shore and waded in. Edward scurried ahead of him, leaving Emmett to gawk helplessly as Edward emerged from the water one delicious body part at a time.

The goggling started with that crop of wild hair Edward worried with his fingers whenever he was agitated, somewhat tamed now in its wet, tamped-down state, but not exactly docile. His gawping continued, following the water droplets as they rolled down Edward's back, alive with goose bumps now that the air had hit it. Pausing briefly to pay homage to the two deep dimples punctuating his lower back, Emmett's gaze slipped lower to feast on the main event—the briefest of briefs.

What the hell _was_ that thin band of material stretched within an inch of its life across Edward's cheeks? Fresh from the ocean, the whole thing was tantalizingly transparent, especially down the heavenly divide, where it was clinging to the contours of the firm handfuls of flesh on either side_._ An old-school Speedo would've been less cruel without the tiny teases of fabric pretending to cover the very top of his thighs and doing a lousy job of it. If not for the frigid water, Emmett would've found himself in an extremely compromised situation. Even so, he reached inside his trunks to check on things before popping up to the surface.

All bets were off when Edward turned around. Drenched and dripping, running his hand through his hair, Edward stood on the beach with his feet spread just enough to create an inviting space between his thighs—the exact spot Emmett got lost until he remembered himself and lifted his gaze.

He needn't have worried; Edward wasn't looking at Emmett's face either. He stood on that beach, exuding the same raw need Emmett had seen in the locker room, the kid set loose in the candy store, not knowing what to sample first. Emmett's body tingled in response as Edward's hungry gaze devoured his chest and meandered to the ridges of his belly. If Edward dared look any lower, he'd see exactly what he was stirring in Emmett, cold water be damned.

"Smooth backstroke you got there," Emmett said, his words snapping Edward's attention back to the safety of Emmett's face.

Realizing his lapse, Edward slapped a smile across his face. "Thanks. How do you feel?"

_Horny as hell. _"Good. Relaxed. Hungry!"

Edward laughed. "I don't suppose you want something from one of those trucks."

"Not today."

"Well, I guess we should head back so you can get ready."

"Yes, you can work your voodoo on the walk."

They walked at the edge of the water, both men keeping their eyes forward. The occasional elbow bump was at first met with a mumbled, "Sorry," but as they continued along, Emmett noticed fewer and fewer apologies.

Edward had done his homework—no surprise there—weaving in specific Red Sox stats and customizing his ideas to help Emmett face down tonight's opponent. They reviewed the concepts that seemed to have helped Emmett in Tampa Bay, and Edward threw in a few new twists from their swim. Emmett was so focused on their talk, he nearly forgot about the hot man in the skintight suit beside him.

And then Edward bent over to pick up his towel.

Was it possible he was oblivious to the effect he was having on Emmett? It was hard to believe, but maybe it was like Tammy had said—he wasn't looking for it, so he didn't see it. Emmett had to wonder how long that would be the case. This need inside him was building in urgency, and suppressing it was taking more energy than he had to spare.

Giving Emmett a final bro-handclasp, Edward's parting words made Emmett's blood run cold. "See you at Safeco. Well," he said, grinning, "you won't see me, but I'll see you."

XXX

"Patience, patience, patience," Coach Waits said. "The Sox are going to test you today, and you're going to win."

"I hear you, Coach, but I want to stay in this game. If I start throwing to a full count with every batter, you're gonna have to yank me in the fourth inning!"

"I know it's a challenge, Mac, especially for you, but you're not going to win this game with firepower. You throw a juicy fastball anywhere near Ortiz or Pedroia, and it's good night, Charlie."

"Will you consider upping my pitch count today? The shoulder's doing great lately." The swim had helped; Trey had noticed the difference stretching him out before the game.

"Let's see how it goes, son. I'm not making any promises. Now go out there and throw me some balls!"

Waits sent Emmett to the mound with a healthy swat on his backside. Following Coach's game plan, Emmett mixed up his pitches, pitching more balls wide and low than he was used to. The Sox weren't biting at the balls, just waiting—maddeningly waiting. The first several innings passed without incident; Emmett walked three batters, but none scored. Seaver hit a home run for the Mariners in the bottom of the fourth, driving in Chavez for a 2-0 lead. With the small cushion, Emmett pushed a little harder in the fifth inning, successfully striking out two, and forcing the third batter to ground out.

Feeling good in the dugout, Emmett let his gaze wander out into the stands. _You won't see me, but I'll see you. _Emmett couldn't see more than a blur, but he knew exactly which blur was Edward. _Look away,_ the little voice warned, but it was too late.

Snippets of their morning together flooded his mind: Edward pulling off his shirt, emerging from the surf in his skin-tight trunks, and worst of all, the pure, unmasked desire on Edward's face as he openly ogled Emmett. If he'd thought the little python-pump session in his shower had obliterated his need, Emmett was clearly and sorely mistaken.

_Do not let this fuck you up. _Patience, balls, pacing. _You've got a team and countless fans . . . not to mention a paycheck relying on this. One tight ass in swim trunks is not worth risking all that._

_Ah, if only he were just that. _No, Emmett knew Edward was so much more to him already . . . and what haunted him day and night was what Edward _could_ be if Emmett would only take a chance.

Patience. Balls. Emmett jogged out to the mound and faced down Bogaerts. A consistent hitter with an impressive on-base percentage, Bogaerts was not a player to underestimate, especially with Ortiz right behind him in the lineup. Emmett opened boldly with a sinker, fairly certain Bogaerts would play the waiting game and watch the strike sail over the plate. Instead, he snagged the pitch and hit a low, screaming grounder to left field, landing him safely on first. All of a sudden, the tying run was at the plate, and the tension had ratcheted up twentyfold.

_Ignore the_ _108,000 eyes shooting laser beams into your back, your sides, your front. _There he stood on the mound, a lightning rod in a gathering storm. This was the thrill Emmett lived for, the make-or-break at-bat that would make him tonight's hero or tonight's villain. Emmett drew in a deep breath and visualized his swimming partner, but the useful advice was delivered by the hot guy in the skintight trunks. He couldn't access one without the other.

Deciding no Edward at all was preferable to the package deal that included his very ample package, Emmett shook Edward out of his mind and focused on his coach's advice. _Patience. Balls_.

David Ortiz loomed large over the plate, a monster home run hitter in any inning. Emmett threw him two balls, and the big man barely blinked. Emmett hunkered down for a long showdown. Seaver signaled for the curveball, and Emmett shook it off. Big Papi was getting another ball, and if he stared this one down, another one was coming after that.

_Pop! _Swing and a foul tip into the screen. Papi crouched again and twirled the tip of his bat in menacing circles. Emmett threw a sinker, catching Ortiz off guard and drawing a second strike. The count was two and two. The fastball would've been Emmett's go-to pitch in this situation, but Coach wanted him to throw in another ball and let Ortiz whiff.

Releasing a deep breath, Emmett wound up and pitched a curveball that was meant to swerve away from Ortiz just as he was reaching for it, but the bastard caught the outside of the ball with the sweet spot of his bat and sent the damn thing flying over the right field wall for a home run.

At the edge of the dugout stood Waits, arms crossed and head dropped forward in defeat. The crowd grew silent as Bogaerts and Ortiz rounded the bases. Seaver threw out the new game ball to Emmett, who passed it anxiously around the field to his teammates, attempting to quell his emotions. He'd been outwitted and outplayed by Ortiz, and Emmett was pissed.

Coach left Emmett in the game, an act of faith in his player Emmett was determined not to abuse. Emmett didn't take any more big chances; if he wanted to throw a ball, it wasn't going to turn into a hit. He stretched himself to make it past the 100-pitch count, but fatigue was settling into his joints. A fastball to Drew got away from Emmett, and the Red Sox batter sent a stinger past him for a double.

Coach was out on the mound before Emmett could slap the ball into his mitt. "Okay, Mac. We'll take it from here."

Emmett sulked in the dugout the rest of the inning and watched the remainder of the game from Trey's table. The no-decision was a narrow escape, and Emmett knew it. He didn't need Jasper to interpret the signs for him. Thoughts of Edward had grown more intrusive by the day to the point where they'd become dangerous. Emmett had a decision to make—either cut off his association with Edward altogether, or push their friendship to the next level and let the chips fall where they may.

By the time he reached home, Emmett had made up his mind.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Dun, dun, DUNNNN! Feel free to guess Emmett's next move! Inspiration for Edward's bathing suit may be found (and posted!) in the patch!

Hey, I may be a Mariners' fan "on paper", but my baseball heart belongs to the Sox...and damn those boys for their patience! Makes for some long ass games! Special shout out to my baseball consultants—Mr. H and Jayme TyZane.

**XXX ~BOH**


	24. Chapter 24

**XXX CHAPTER 24 XXX**

_Might as well bite the bullet right now._ Emmett was exhausted and emotionally drained, but there was no reason for Edward to set his alarm and drive to the beach in the morning.

**Sorry, can't run tomorrow.**

**No problem. See you Monday?**

_Fuck! _If Emmett wanted to make a clean break, the smart play would be to tell Edward now, not drag this out, not put himself in the position where he'd have to actively avoid Edward again and again. He knew it was wrong, but his own heart was already carrying so much sadness, Emmett couldn't bear to inflict the whole truth on Edward just yet. **Can I text you tomorrow night?**

**Sure.**

Sunday morning was a slow, depressing march and an excruciating exercise in restraint. Resolved not to message Edward, by midday, Emmett somehow convinced himself it would be okay to check Edward's tweet.

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball There's always a rematch.**

There he went again, reaching out under the cover of a "random" post to send Emmett a comforting message. And what did Edward get for all his trouble? Dumped! Kicked to the curb because Emmett had to make this all or nothing, and "all" wasn't a viable option. _I'm such a shit._

Emmett left early for the ballpark, leaving himself extra time to punish his body for the sins of his heart. Trey eyed him cautiously, holding his tongue until he had Emmett laid out face-down on his table.

"I see we're hell-bent on self-destruction again. Wanna tell me what's going on?"

The donut-shaped pillow around Emmett's face absorbed his answer. "Nope."

"Okay." Trey worked on his back without another word, leaving Emmett to his dark thoughts. Trey signaled for Emmett to flip over, which he managed without meeting his trainer's eyes. Kneading his way up Emmett's left arm, Trey tried once more. "You know you can't take the mound like this, right?"

Emmett's gaze met Trey's for a quick second before finding something extremely compelling on the ceiling to stare at. "I've got it under control."

Indeed, he did. While lying prone on the table, Emmett had devised a game plan worthy of Bobby Fischer. He'd text Edward after the game tonight and beg off for tomorrow. The team would be on the road for an entire week after that, and Edward would understand if Emmett couldn't contact him—different time zones, busy schedules, planes to catch. The timing was perfect to make the break. Emmett would barely remember what the guy looked like after eight days apart. He'd trail off with a strategically-placed message every now and then before fading quietly from Edward's radar screen. The plan was watertight; it couldn't fail.

Seeking to finish the unpleasant deed as quickly as possible, Emmett was first into the locker room after the game. He sent Edward the briefest of texts, **Sorry, tomorrow isn't going to work, **adding a note of finality with, **Have a good day.**

_You're a shmuck, you know that, Mac? _

_A shmuck trying not to blow his career on a distraction._

_Edward is going to be devastated._

_He'll understand. It's for the good of the team._

_He'll understand that you can't be friends with him anymore? _

Aye, wasn't that the rub? Emmett cranked up the radio in the Spyder, drowning out his warring thoughts with Hip Hop Nation until the robot voice interrupted. **_One new message from . . . Edward Cullen. Say "read it" or "ignore."_**

"Fuck!"

**_I'm sorry, I don't understand what you said. Say "read it" or "ignore."_**

"Ignore!"_ It's probably just a "you too" or "take care," _Emmett reassured himself. _I don't need to read it tonight and get sucked in to responding._

The music kicked in again, but instead of quieting Emmett's thoughts, the low-pitched rap pounded at his frazzled nerves like a thousand tiny hammers inside his head. With an exasperated sigh, Emmett flipped off the music and opened his window, leaning elbow-first into the muggy night air.

XXX

He resisted checking his messages again in the morning, heading to the beach for a faster run than he'd taken in weeks. Pushing himself to their distant turnaround spot, Emmett ran out of steam and sank to the sand. A low groan escaped him as he dropped his head back on folded arms and stretched his exhausted legs to the edge of the surf. The ocean ran up and tickled his toes before rushing away out of reach.

_You gonna lie here all day feeling sorry for yourself, you pathetic loser?_

Effectively bullied, he stood, dug his toes into the wet sand, and gazed out to where the water met the horizon. Surely, there were answers out there for him . . . somewhere. He looked to the sky, half-expecting a glider to fly across the water, carrying a banner with the right answer to his problem. Perhaps the mathematician could work out a more logical solution, factoring in probabilities about their chances as a couple or what would happen to Emmett's career if they were discovered.

Wading into the ocean until the water lapped at his knees, Emmett turned toward home. He slogged through the cool water that was both a burden and a relief—much like his new friendship.

There was no question Emmett was his best self around Edward. Surely, Edward's intelligence challenged Emmett to stretch himself—when had he ever made an earnest attempt to learn the game of chess? And Edward's dry, Vulcan sense of humor snuck up on Emmett when he was least expecting it. Perhaps, most of all, it was the starry-eyed way the guy still looked at Emmett as if he could do no wrong.

But wasn't that the burden, too? Emmett was human, a point he'd proven again and again as he struggled to master his emotions on the mound. What would happen the day Emmett fell off Edward's pedestal and actually bled? Was that the man Edward wanted, or was he just enamored with the comic book version?

By the time Emmett reached home, he was more confused than ever. Reluctantly, he picked up his phone and opened Edward's text from last night.

**Mac, I understand. You have to do what's best for you.**

_Shit, shit, shit! Why couldn't Edward be a jerk about this? _

**Yeah, I think I need to get back to my routine. This isn't working right now. Nothing personal.**

_No, not much._

**Sorry I couldn't be more helpful.**

**You were great. Not your fault I have rocks in my head! **Please, Edward, don't make me trot out the time-worn "It's not you, it's me," though never had the statement been more accurate.

A long pause followed, and Emmett pictured Edward hunched over his keyboard, typing and erasing, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. Emmett was just about to hit the shower when the message came in.

**I messed you up. Should never have changed your game-day workout!**

**I'm not superstitious, Edward. The swim was relaxing. That's not the problem.**

**Then it's something I said. Who the hell are we kidding here? I'm no coach! I don't have a clue what I'm doing.**

_Dammit! _He should've known Edward would take Emmett's failures onto his own shoulders. God, this thing was spiraling out of control. So much for the brilliant plan! **Edward, stop blaming yourself. Please.**

**Come on, Emmett. Do the math. You pitched a perfect game the night we met. You've been struggling ever since.**

**Not every game!**

**I know a trend when I see one. You're right. You should go back to your routine and listen to the real coaches. No more whatilove tweets.**

_Christ! _This was excruciating, and Emmett couldn't imagine Edward was handling it any better on his end. It was Edward's final message that sucked the oxygen out of Emmett's lungs, all but extinguishing the flame that Edward had sparked to life six weeks ago. **Take good care of yourself, Emmett.**

_And there it was—the breakup. _Emmett should've felt relieved; Edward had shown the courage Emmett wasn't capable of mustering—yet again—and done the dirty work for him, but relief was nowhere in sight.

Somehow, Emmett peeled off his sweaty, sandy clothes and maneuvered himself into the shower. He went through the motions by rote, scrubbing his skin raw before realizing what he was doing to himself. Dazed and weak, he shuffled to the closet, reaching for his Joe Bruin t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

_This can't possibly be the solution_, not when Emmett felt so gutted. _I can't leave it like this!_

Emmett stumbled into the kitchen and, leaning on the counter for support, ate his last banana. The brain fog lifted a bit, leaving Emmett to puzzle over his dilemma. This quick escape route certainly had its advantages for Emmett, he had to admit. Emmett wouldn't have to leave the safety of his closet, wouldn't have to show Edward what a coward he was, and wouldn't have to fight off any fresh images of a man he'd never see again.

But at what cost to Edward? Lead him to believe he'd ruined Emmett with bad coaching advice, and that's why Emmett had to step away? Where would that leave Edward's confidence for August, when he had to face a classroom of young minds waiting to be molded? The truth was, every single thing Edward had done for him and advised him was dead solid.

Emmett picked up his phone and tapped the screen to life. There it was, Edward's final message. Even in goodbye, he was ever insightful. This was all about Emmett taking care of what he'd thought was important, but if that were the case, why did his chest feel like a cannonball had just blown through? Surely this bullshit wouldn't help him win baseball games!

It was time to follow his gut and take care of himself in a meaningful way by being a decent, stand-up guy. He only prayed Edward would give him the chance to let him off the hook.

With shaky fingers, he opened their message stream and typed. **Hi. Remember me? **

Scared to wait for a response, Emmett continued. **Listen, I don't want to leave things this way between us. Can we meet? I'll come to you.** Heart in his throat, Emmett pushed send.

No response. Emmett checked the time—11:35. He was due at practice at two today for a light workout. Still no response. Crap. It crossed Emmett's mind for one sickening second that Edward had blocked him, not that he could blame the guy.

Emmett fixed himself a bowl of Special K—the fridge was bare the night before a week-long road trip. He'd grab something more substantial at the park. Flopping onto the couch with his lunch, phone, and the remote within reach, Emmett turned on the TV and scrolled how Fuller always did, barely registering what was on. Pausing on an old _Star Trek _rerun with the original cast, Emmett chuckled and shook his head.

"Okay, Universe. I'm listening."

Trading the remote for his cereal bowl, Emmett paid extra close attention to the famous Spock-Kirk bromance. "I bet you'd never abandon your first officer, wouldja, Captain Kirk?"

The couch vibrated with an incoming text, and Emmett lunged for his phone, sloshing cereal soup onto the leather.

**Sure, if you like. **

**I like. What's your address?**

**You really want to come here? My place is a dive!**

**Don't start cleaning! **Emmett laughed despite the tangled mess of nerves in his belly. **Address, Cullen!**

**Okay. 325 Morris St. in Renton. It's a bit of a haul.**

Yeah, a haul Edward had made every damn day in rush hour traffic. **On my way.**

Swiping at the milky mess with his napkin, Emmett jumped off the couch and raced around his apartment, gathering keys, shades, flip flops, and wallet. He still had two hours—and with Renton being a half hour from home and another half hour from the stadium, that would give Emmett an hour to smooth things over with Edward and at least leave their friendship in a decent place.

* * *

**Author's Note:** *dives into pumpkin shell and closes lid tight*

**XXX ~BOH**


	25. Chapter 25

**XXX CHAPTER 25 XXX**

A soft mist turned into a gentle summer rain as Emmett exited the highway onto the unfamiliar streets of Renton. Edward's folks probably lived in one of the more affluent suburbs, but Renton was a smart choice for Edward, a true melting pot of singles and young families, with its affordable homes and diverse restaurants. Emmett concentrated on the rhythmic _swa-swish_ of the wipers, blotting out all conscious thought except his singular mission—relieving Edward of his guilt.

The Spyder crawled through the tree-lined streets, turning onto Morris a few blocks short of the river. There it was—325, a compact, symmetrical brick structure with a closely mown lawn. No white picket fence or smoke curling from the chimney, but Emmett could imagine the house, nonetheless, as a crayon drawing reflecting a perfectly adjusted, well-loved child. He locked the car and walked purposefully to the front door.

Edward answered the bell, the pinch-me-I'm-dreaming grin notably absent as he took in Emmett's presence on his stoop. Was Emmett too late to repair the damage he'd done? His heart sank at Edward's careful greeting.

"You're here."

"Yep."

"Ever been to Renton before?"

"Not that I can remember. But I see why you like it—no high rises."

Edward stepped aside so Emmett could step into the house. "Not an elevator in sight. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water would be great."

As Edward led him toward the back of the house, Emmett peeked into the small dining room and living room spaces. Aside from a dining table with six chairs and a couple of paintings hanging on the wall, the rooms were barren. "I really love what you've done with the place."

Edward's chuckle followed him into the kitchen. "I only just moved in four weeks ago. I won't be throwing any parties for a while."

Guilt churned in Emmett's gut. "I guess I sucked up all your decorating time."

"Yes, thank god!" Edward handed Emmett a cold bottle from the fridge. "Mom's dug her hooks into me for this week. I figured while you were on the road . . ." He trailed off, coming to the same sad conclusion as Emmett had—none of that mattered anymore. "Anyway, it's a process. I do, however, have a very comfortable couch in the family room."

"Lead the way."

If the other rooms in Edward's house were the poor step-children, the room Emmett had just entered was the favorite son. Wall-to-wall plush carpeting in a warm, earthy tan practically begged for barefoot walking, while the brown suede, U-shaped sectional in front of the large screen invited a guy to sit down and stay for a while. Emmett wandered over to the other half of the room, where a square game table hosted what appeared to be three active chess games.

"Edward, have you been cheating on me?"

"Hmm, not really," he said, pointing to the closest board. "I started this game about a week before I met you."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, this is an old friend I met on the circuit back in the day. We each email one move a day."

"You are an exceedingly patient man," Emmett observed, not for the first time.

Edward shrugged. "I believe the important things are worth waiting for."

Unable to read Edward's expression, Emmett pressed him about the other games. "How about these two?"

Pointing to a Revolutionary War set of Redcoats vs. Colonists, Edward smiled. "This one is a recreation of a famous game by Spassky and Kasparov. I like to practice every now and then to stay sharp."

Emmett couldn't resist. "You're playing with yourself?"

Without missing a beat, Edward answered, "Yes, I like my chances."

Emmett gave him a touché nod. "And the other?"

Edward's smile broadened. "That's Dad. I eat dinner at their house once a week—the day varies based on his schedule—and yours," Edward added, tipping his grin toward Emmett, "and I keep a replica of our game here so I can study it."

"Holy shit. You can recreate the board from memory when you get home?"

"Sure. That part's not hard. It's trying to figure out what Dad's going to do next that keeps me up at night."

"Oh yeah? Your dad's pretty good, then?"

Pride lit up Edward's eyes. "He's kind of ridiculous."

_This is all well and good, but time's a tickin'. _"So . . . can we sit down for a minute?"

"Sure."

Edward led him to the couch and perched on the edge of the end cushion. Heart pounding right out of his chest, Emmett chose a safe spot toward the middle and cleared the gravel out of his throat. "Look, Edward, what I wanted to say was . . ." _Shit! What the hell do I want to say? _"You're a great coach, and I know you're going to be a fantastic teacher."

Edward's lips curled down at the corners. "Okay, thanks."

"You don't believe me."

"As they say, 'the proof is in the pudding.'"

Emmett chuffed, shaking his head. "There are a whole lot of other ingredients in this pudding, Edward. You can't be held responsible for all of them."

"C'mon, Emmett. It's not exactly a controlled experiment, but if you were to measure the environment before introducing the variable—i.e., _me—_and then observe the outcomes—"

"That makes no sense!"

Edward flinched. Quietly, irritatingly reasonably, Edward asked, "Why not?"

"Because you can't take something that's ninety percent emotion and try to dissect it with a microscope!"

"Ninety percent emotion? That's how pitching is for you?"

Emmett's blood was reaching boiling point, and he felt himself spinning out of control, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. "Yes, Mr. Spock. Now, what are you going to do with that?"

The couch let out a soft hiss as Edward leaned back into its comforting embrace. Emmett shifted his focus toward the TV, unable to bear the way Edward was regarding Emmett as if he didn't recognize him.

_That makes sense; I don't recognize myself._

The air between them pulsed with Emmett's frustration and Edward's confusion. Edward opened his mouth to respond, looked completely lost when the words didn't come, then simply shook his head. Guzzling his water, Emmett waited for Edward to catch onto the fact that the public figure he'd idolized had turned out to be a giant asshole as a real-life man.

After a silence that must've stretched two minutes, Edward produced his solution. "Either way, it's my fault."

Emmett turned to him, incredulous that Edward was apparently hell-bent on taking the blame. "Fine," Emmett said, rising to his feet as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, "you know what? You're right. It _is _your fault!" Edward absorbed the impact of Emmett's cruelty with a heavy swallow.

"Of course it is. Who did I think I was kidding with the dime-store psychobabble?"

"Jesus, Edward! That's got nothing to do with it! It's not your ideas, and it's not your advice, dammit! It's just _you_!"

Edward's eyes narrowed into a squint as he tried to follow the raving maniac in front of him. "Me? _How_?"

"Goddammit, can't you tell? I'm completely fucked up over you!"

"I can definitely tell you're fucked up, but if it's not my advice, I'm not following what I've done to cause it."

"You've done absolutely nothing!" Flailing wildly and causing a tidal wave in his water bottle, Emmett ranted on. "You've just been there, acting all sweet and supportive and hot and logical . . . ugh! It's exasperating!"

Finally out of steam, Emmett slumped into the cushions and closed his eyes to ward off the repercussions, keeping them tightly shut until Edward's calm, soft voice reached him.

"Excuse me?" Emmett was reminded of a sweet, young boy who once asked him for his autograph at the grocery store. "Did you just say I was hot?"

Emmett chuffed. _And away we go! _"I guess I did."

Edward nodded slowly, adding the data to his computer and figuring the new results. "And this exasperates you?"

"Greatly." A grin spread across Emmett's face. Confession was actually pretty good for the soul after all.

"Huh. Well, thank you, I guess, but may I ask why?"

"You know, Professor, for a smart guy, you can be pretty dense."

Edward chuckled. "So I've been told."

Emmett twisted the lid onto the bottle and set it down on the coffee table. Leaning forward, he balanced his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together in between. "I have feelings for you, Edward." Emmett's big revelation took with it a giant swoosh of air.

Edward's jaw dropped open, and it would've been comical if Emmett's life weren't hanging in the balance. "Feelings?"

"Oh, man. You're really going to make me spell it out, aren't you?" Shaking his head, Emmett drew a deep breath before continuing. "Okay, man, here it is. I'm attracted to you, and Jesus, before you ask, _yes, _in a sexual way." Emmett held Edward's startled gaze. "In an intensely physical, want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-throw-you-down-and-do-all-kinds-of-nasty-things-to-your-body kind of way."

Edward's astonishment gave way to a childlike exuberance that burst forth in a brilliant smile. The next second, Edward opened his hand and smacked himself on the cheek. "Ouch!"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You told me to stop pinching myself. I swear, if I'm dreaming right now, I am going to be pissed as hell when I wake up!"

"I can promise you, you're awake."

"I . . . wow . . . sorry, I can't quite wrap my head around this."

"So, is it safe to assume you're interested?"

"You seriously need to ask me that?" Edward chuffed. "I all but branded your number on my ass! I only have the hugest crush in the history of crushes! But not once did it occur to me to even imagine you'd return the sentiment! Okay, that's not exactly true. I've imagined it plenty, but in a porn-star-for-a-day kind of way. Never in my real life."

Once again, Edward's true confessions had a way of making Emmett feel as if he were standing naked in the middle of a crowded stadium. "I had my suspicions about your feelings toward me, but I wasn't sure. As a pro athlete, I get a lot of straight men guy-crushing me in a hetero way, if you know what I mean. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's what."

"In that case, let me be exceedingly clear. I'm gay. I've been out since middle school. I just haven't been with anyone in a while. School and moving and . . . honestly, since you started playing baseball, you pretty much ruined me for other men."

"I guess we're even then." The two exchanged embarrassed glances and blushing smiles.

Emmett was grateful when Edward broke their awkward silence. "If I might ask, how long have you been feeling this way?"

A dark guffaw left Emmett as he whipped out his phone and showed Edward the screensaver, his favorite of the three locker room shots—the first one, the unguarded admiration plastered on Edward's face. "That day we met in the locker room, when we did this."

"Holy shit!" Edward stared at the photo as if he'd just uncovered buried treasure. Handing the phone back, he said, "I'm confused; I really thought you were straight."

Well, if nothing else, this conversation was at least entertaining. "No, Edward. I'm not straight. Not even a little bit."

"So Tammy . . .?"

"A beautiful smokescreen."

"Wow, had me fooled." Edward stared at Emmett, shaking his head every so often and repeating "wow." Emmett grinned, reclining in his front-row seat as he watched the movie scroll through Edward's head. The man was as transparent as the water bottle in front of him.

"You seem to be catching on."

"Let me recap here. You're not straight, and you want to do nasty things to my hot body. How am I doing so far?"

"Accurate." Emmett felt the blush rise to his cheeks as Edward's confidence grew.

"So, why didn't you tell me? All this time . . . we could've been . . ." Edward finished the sentence by fanning himself.

"Let me ask you something. How many gay pro ballplayers do you know?"

"Ah." Edward's smile retracted like a scared turtle. "I hope you know I would never tell a soul, Emmett. Your secrets are all safe with me."

Emmett nodded. "That's why I'm here."

"Excuse my bluntness, but exactly why _are_ you here, Emmett? Earlier today, it seemed you wanted nothing more to do with me and now . . . you're here, getting me all hot and bothered!"

"I'm sorry about all that, about everything, Edward. If I'm sending mixed messages, it's only because my head is spinning, and I honestly don't know what to do about all this, and frankly, it's making mincemeat out of my brains."

"Hence your pitching woes."

"Basically, but I couldn't leave you with the impression that you'd done anything wrong. Honestly, you've been amazing for my game . . . when I'm not getting all frustrated and distracted, that is."

"So it really is my fault?"

"No, it's my fault because I can't handle this. God knows, I've tried."

"What can I do to help?"

Emmett looked into those earnest eyes of his trusted friend, ashamed of himself for trying to push him away. "There is one thing . . . if you could stop being so damn hot, it might help a little."

"I'm sorry, but that's just not gonna happen," Edward teased. "Seriously, though, would it help if I stayed away from the games the days you're pitching?"

Emmett had to admit, the idea did hold some appeal, but he immediately chided himself. "You love the Mariners, and I know how much going to the games means to you and Carlisle. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the thought, but I could never ask you to give up your seat."

"Yes, I do love my team, and if what's best for the team turns out to be me watching at home on that screen right there, I would do it in a heartbeat. This isn't about me. I'm just one stupid fan."

"No, you're actually _by far_ the smartest fan. And that's not the solution because you're not really the problem; I am. This is my problem, and I have to work it out."

"_We_ have to work it out."

A comforting wave of warm fuzzies fluttered through Emmett's belly. It seemed the professor didn't give up easily. When he responded, Emmett felt the grin crawl across his face. "And what exactly do you propose?"

"Okay . . . let's look at this logically. We don't even know if we have any chemistry together. We should test that."

The flutter grew into a persistent thump as Edward scooted over on the couch until their thighs were touching.

"What are you doing?"

"We should kiss. Then we'll know if it's a false alarm."

Nerves got the better of him, and Emmett burst out laughing. "You can tell all that from one kiss?"

"Always. Can't you?"

Of course he could. "I guess."

Edward angled his body toward Emmett. "Well?"

They were so close, Emmett could see the soft pink of Edward's tongue resting just behind his teeth, could feel the warm puffs of Edward's minty breath on his cheeks with every word he spoke. Staring into the warm, encouraging eyes, Emmett inched closer to the point of no return.

"Ready?" Emmett whispered, more to himself than Edward.

Edward's lips twisted into a crooked grin as he leaned in. "I seriously doubt it."

Their eyes tracked until they were too close, and Emmett swooped in for the kiss. Logically, Emmett must've first felt the meeting of eager lips, must've sampled a hint of Edward's taste, but what Emmett would remember most about that delicious moment of their first kiss was the complete meltdown in his groin. Liquid on the inside and granite on the outside. Edward deepened their kiss, boldly opening Emmett's lips with his own, pressing his tongue against Emmett's, moaning into his mouth.

The humming intensified, becoming a quake against Emmett's lips. Puzzled by the odd sensation, Emmett opened his eyes to find Edward laughing against his mouth. Emmett pressed his hand against Edward's chest, pushing him back just enough to make room to ask, "What the hell's so funny?"

"I'm sorry," Edward answered. "It just hit me all of a sudden that I was kissing Emmett McCarty."

Emmett grabbed him by his shirt, reared up, and flipped Edward onto his back on the couch. Straddling his hips, Emmett crouched over his victim and pinned Edward's hands over his head. "Maybe I should pinch you this time!"

A spike of desire flashed from Edward's sexy bedroom eyes. "Kiss me again. _Please_."

Emmett nosedived as the plea left Edward's lips. Weeks of pent-up passion and frustration hijacked Emmett's lips; Emmett was more plundering than pleasuring, but his partner's loud groans and upward hip flexes egged him on. There was no peace to be found until Emmett had completely devoured him.

Pleasantly aroused and delirious from the kissing, Emmett rolled onto his side between Edward and the back of the couch. "Sorry I kind of attacked you," he said with a mischievous smile that clearly conveyed he wasn't the least bit sorry.

Edward shrugged. "It was all for the good of science."

"Yeah, at least we know now there's no chemistry," Emmett said.

Unable to contain his smile, Edward answered, "I was thinking the same thing."

The endorphins were doing a fine job of keeping Emmett's end-of-days morbidity in check, and the two of them lay there for several blissful minutes, just grinning at each other. After a while, reality wormed its way between their hard, excited bodies, and Emmett had to ask. "Now what, Coach?"

The smile Edward turned on him reminded Emmett of Buddha—pure serenity and wisdom rolled into one happy, chubby guy. "Now we figure it out."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, day-umm, that's a load off! I wish you could see my smile. THIS was the chapter I've been sitting on...waiting for all of you to meet me. This is the scene that drove the prequel, and I wrote it and rewrote it at least four times before I was even close to this point in the story. Of course, when I finally did get here, my characters had their own way of reworking the script. I had originally written Emmett slamming Edward against that door and pounding him with kisses before saying a word, but then Emmett let me know that'd be a real dick move, considering where Edward's head was. You can't play with a guy like that. And of course, Edward needed to talk it all out, get all logical, understand the incomprehensible before letting himself go. I think we all knew Emmett would pop like an overfilled balloon and slip a little something he didn't mean to.

Now, for those of you who are worried this is where the story ends, nope! I've got to get you to t-ball season, don't I? So sit back and enjoy the show! Thanks for your patience, all. Hang in there, Mr. H...  
**XXX ~BOH**


	26. Chapter 26

**XXX CHAPTER 26 XXX**

Emmett sailed through his workout, no longer weighed down by the heavy burden of his secret. He'd confided in Edward, who hadn't disappointed him—not with his kisses and certainly not with his understanding and acceptance of the situation. The only thing that truly sucked was their timing. How Emmett was going to wait another week to see him again was beyond comprehension. He smiled to himself, remembering Edward's "helpful" suggestions of how he could travel with the team.

_"I'm practically an assistant coach. Trey will vouch for me."_

_"I'm sure he would, but we'd have to leave someone else behind."_

_"In that case, you could stow me in your equipment bag. I promise I'll be quiet while they load me in the cargo hold."_

_"Oh, no you don't!" Emmett chuckled. "You just want an excuse to roll around with my jerseys!"_

_"You're jealous of your uniform now?"_

_Emmett cupped Edward's chin and gave him a long, hard stare. "I am not above jealousy where you're concerned."_

_Edward blushed, shook his head, and said, "I cannot imagine a more useless emotion."_

_"Good God, your Spock-speak drives me wild." To prove his point, Emmett had leaned in and devoured Edward all over again._

"Whoa there, you wanna watch where you're walking, big fella?" Trey caught him before they collided.

"Sorry, man."

"Don't be. I like what I saw out there today. Here, sit down. You don't even need ice today, do you?"

"Nope, and as much as I hate to say it, I don't think I need one of your nuclear-powered rubdowns either."

Trey moved behind Emmett's chair and worked his hands around Emmett's shoulders. "Now you're gonna break my heart, Mac."

Emmett chuckled, imagining what Edward wouldn't do to have Trey's hands all over him—or to be a fly on the wall while Emmett received his massage. Trey's fingers shimmied down Emmett's right arm, searching for knots and sore spots and finding neither.

"You got laid last night"—Trey craned his neck around Emmett's body, catching him off-guard—"or was it this morning?"

Emmett felt himself blushing; he'd never had any luck hiding from Trey. Holding on to the thread of truth—that he and Edward had never made it beyond kissing—Emmett answered. "I still don't want to talk about it."

Trey retreated to Emmett's back, kneading practiced thumbs down his spine. "Neither do I, believe me. Just thank whoever it was for me? I was about ready to take care of you myself!"

Emmett slapped his thigh. "Now you tell me!"

Trey chuffed. "I know. I really should've checked the fine print in my contract!" His hands moved to Emmett's neck, and Emmett dropped his head forward and relaxed into the massage. "You think you can hold onto this feeling in Kansas City?"

Emmett answered without hesitation. "Yes."

XXX

Emmett tossed and turned in his hotel room. The shared living space had one serious disadvantage—it was nearly impossible to rub one out without his roommate catching on. If he or Fuller occasionally heard the other's bed springs squeaking or a telltale moan coming from the other side of the room, they'd both tactfully ignored it. Using the bathroom wasn't much less obvious, so Emmett contained his arousal and tried like hell not to replay the make-out session while he lay in bed and watched the clock rob him of his sleep minute by blasted minute. When Emmett finally dozed off around 3:30, his dreams were filled with lips and tongues and sparkling green eyes and extremely skimpy swim suits. Needless to say, he woke in a state of urgent need.

Fuller was messing around on his phone, looking to be in no hurry to get up. Emmett swung his legs out of bed and sauntered toward the shower in his very tight boxer briefs, jumping when Fuller called him out.

"Make sure you rinse that shit down the drain."

Emmett glanced over at his roommate's knowing grin. "Asshole."

The fact that Fuller knew exactly what he was up to didn't deter Emmett in the least once he stepped into the shower stall. He slicked up his hand with shower gel and grabbed his aching cock. Closing his eyes, Emmett conjured the taste of Edward's lips, swollen and wrecked from their nonstop scamming. The sound of needy whimpers swallowed between them as they passed tongues back and forth through the seal of their joined lips. That pull in his belly when the stop-and-go action halted just long enough for them to pull back, open their eyes, and see what they were doing to each other. The feel of Edward's hand snaking behind Emmett's neck, tugging him down for more.

Emmett pumped harder, bracing himself against the tiles as his arousal crested, recalling Edward's parting words—_"Don't forget me while you're gone"_—delivered with a shy, adorably anxious smile.

_"As if I could." _

Pleasure rippled through every inch of Emmett's body as his load spurted out of him and painted the shower wall. He stood there, panting, while the blood returned to his brain, bringing much-needed oxygen along with it. _Christ, what a way to start the day!_

XXX

It was after midnight when the Mariners, a tired but happy bunch, finally loaded onto the bus after winning a grueling thirteen-inning battle. The first chance he had, Emmett whipped out his phone.

**Hey.**

Edward's response was immediate. **Hey! Great game!**

**We'll be back to the hotel in ten min. Okay if I call then?**

**Hmm let me think about that…**

Emmett smiled, quickly covering his face with his hand before any of the guys discovered him staring all googly-eyed at his phone. Edward's teasing got to him, and the more confident Edward grew in this relationship, the more often Emmett was treated to this side of him.

**If you'd like to talk, answer the damn phone, or I'll have to leave a long, filthy message on your voicemail.**

**DAMN! What a choice! **

**You've got 8 minutes to think about it, Professor.**

Emmett beat a path straight up the elevator and down the hall to his room, where he promptly stepped out onto the narrow balcony and closed the sliding door behind him. He wondered whether Edward would let the phone ring a few times just to drive him nuts, but he'd barely pushed send when Edward picked up.

"I opted for immediate gratification," he said sheepishly.

"Good choice!" Emmett chuckled as he sank into the small, plastic chair, banging his knees on the railing in the process. "Ow! Fuck!"

"What the hell is going on over there? Are you okay?"

"Oh, just the glamorous life of a major league baseball player on the road. I stepped out onto our balcony to get a little privacy, and there's barely enough room out here to change my mind."

Edward's laughter filled Emmett's ear. "Privacy, eh? Am I about to get that long, filthy message you promised?"

Reminded of the mad rush to the shower to take care of his morning wood, Emmett quickly shut him down. "Unfortunately, no. I have a roommate, remember?"

"Oh, jeez! Never mind! I don't need you getting all horny with Fuller in the next bed."

Emmett's first instinct was to burst out laughing and tell Edward he had nothing to worry about, but the idea of a semi-growly, possessive Edward was too irresistible. "Aww, baby, you're not jealous, are you?"

Emmett could picture Edward's flushed face as if it were floating right in front of him. "Of course I am! Fuller gets to sleep with you, and I don't!"

_Damn, _was this guy for real? "Well, if it's any consolation, I barely slept last night."

"That's awful. What's wrong?"

Emmett cleared his throat. "Well, not to beat a dead horse or anything, but . . ."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sorry?" Edward's voice had a hint of a smile in it.

"I don't believe you."

"Okay, I'm not entirely sorry that I'm distracting you. God knows I was an unproductive mess today, but you're not just accessory shopping; you're pitching tomorrow, which means you need to get a good night's sleep tonight!"

"I'm aware." Emmett sighed. "Whose brilliant idea was it to start this whole thing before a week-long road trip?"

"Yours!"

"Oh, mine? Let's see now, who was it who said, 'We should kiss'?"

"Hey, that was after you told me you were hot for me! What was I supposed to do, just sit there and listen to you go on about how you'd solve your own problems?"

"Since you're so great at problem-solving, what do you suggest, Professor?"

Edward went quiet, and Emmett imagined him scrolling through a set of options in his head. "I can be in Kansas City by 1:37 tomorrow afternoon."

"Were you just Googling flights?"

"Yes."

That heady, Edwardly devotion tugged a grin from Emmett's lips. "Would that be a nonstop flight?"

"No, it would not."

_Even better. _"And what time does your flight leave from Seattle?"

"5:15 a.m."

"Edward, that's . . ." Emmett's voice caught in his throat, and he moved the phone away from his mouth while he pulled himself together. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Damn, if they were talking face-to-face, Emmett would have started his answer by kissing the fuck out of Edward—not because Edward was actually planning to leave his house around 3:30 a.m. or even because he was willing to pay the last-minute fare, but because Edward didn't have a clue that any of this was outrageous.

"Edward, that's extremely kind of you, and God knows, I would love to take you up on it, but what do you think you'd do if you came out here? I have to stay with the team. I'll be at the stadium by noon, stretching and warming up, and then hanging out with the guys at the park until the game. Then, afterwards, it's right back on the bus and straight to bed. I wouldn't even get to see you." _Well, not without prying eyes all around._

"Okay, I hear you. Sheesh, I think I might need to retract my 'what I love' tweet about being on the road!"

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, man. I warned you about this."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much, Emmett. I'm not minding my reality too much right now—aside from being fifteen hundred miles away from you."

"Poor baby. Did you miss me this much before I kissed you?" _Fishing for affection much, Mac?_

What had slipped out as a flip remark was now giving Edward pause. The man spent way more time than normal thinking. "You can't really miss something you don't have. I'd say I longed for you, but it wasn't the same. I had no idea I could actually have you. Now I realize I can, and _poof_, you're gone!"

"Sucks, huh?"

"This is infinitely better—and considerably harder."

Emmett chuffed. "_Way_ harder!"

"Uh huh," Edward said, acknowledging the elephant trunk in each room. "So what about you?"

"Yes, I'm hard."

"Pfffft! That is lovely, I'm sure, but what I meant was, are you missing me more now, too?"

_Oh. _Emmett peeked around his shoulder. Fuller was locked and loaded in front of the tube, paying no attention whatsoever to the man behind the glass. Still, Emmett dropped his voice to nearly a whisper.

"I miss the noises you make when I'm kissing you."

Edward whimpered into the phone, and Emmett cracked up.

"Yeah, that."

"Sorry, I didn't do that on purpose."

"And I miss how your eyes go from bright and intense to this kind of unfocused smoldering, as if you can barely hold a thought in that smart head of yours."

Edward chuckled. "Sounds about right."

Not normally one for talking, especially about his feelings, Emmett was spurred on by the effect his words were having on Edward. "And, _fuck me_ . . . that sexy dance you do when I have you pinned between my knees? Squirming around on your back and pumping your hips all over the damn place?" Emmett closed his eyes as Edward's soft grunts flowed into his ear. "I'm going to need a whole lot more of that when I get home."

"Jesus, Emmett!"

Emmett was now impossibly hard, but it was well worth it. "Yeah, you could say I miss you."

Even as Emmett uttered some of the truest words he'd ever spoken, he realized this new kind of missing Edward was not the frustrated tension of wanting something unattainable. Edward had always been his for the taking. Despite the coil of arousal wound tight in his groin, Emmett was more relaxed than he'd been in weeks. "G'night, Edward."

"Yeah, okay. I'll keep my phone with me tomorrow in case you want to talk . . . anytime, Emmett. Whatever helps, even if it's not talking. Just . . . I'm here . . . or not. You know what I mean."

By the end of Edward's verbal dump, Emmett was shaking his head. "Say good night, Edward."

"Good night, Edward."

"Oh my god. You did not just do that."

Edward's laughter gave way to his gentle words. "Sleep well, Emmett."

XXX

**Heading into dinner. Any last words of wisdom?**

**You're the best pitcher in the league, Emmett. Trust yourself.**

**Cheesy, but I can work with that.**

**Hey, would you rather I didn't watch the game?**

Confidence coursed through Emmett's veins. He was loose and readier than he'd been all season. The monkey was off his back. **No. Watch me win it. **

**God, you're such a showoff.**

**You just figured that out?**

**Nope. Break an arm.**

**Talk to you after the game.**

XXX

**Bus ride is torture.**

**How about if I text your praises while you ride? No hitter thru the 7****th****! ERA 2.58! K/BB 5.87!**

**Stop! You're making me blush.**

**You looked great out there tonight. Is it okay if I'm proud of you?**

Emmett angled his body toward the window, tucking his phone into the curl of his body, well out of viewing range of his seatmate. **Absolutely. **

**I've never seen your pitching so fluid and relaxed. Wait till you see the slo mo!**

Biting back a grin, Emmett texted back, **You've been watching me in slo mo?**

**Maybe. Okay, yes. I can't help it. The way you move…**

**YES?**

**It's the perfect economy of motion!**

Emmett guffawed, drawing the attention of Seaver, who swiveled in his seat, grinned at Emmett, and turned back to his rowdy conversation.

**I thought you were about to say something sexy, **Emmett typed.

**You're the one with the filthy mouth.**

**Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet!**

**Be still my heart.**

"Yo, Mac! What's doing?" Tomlinson reached over the back of Emmett's seat and scrubbed his hand through Emmett's hair. "Making plans for later?"

"Yeah, right," Emmett answered, stuffing his phone into his pocket. "Thought I'd hoist a girl up to my seventeenth floor window and ignore the snoring bastard in the next bed."

"You get a girl up there, McCarty, and I promise I'll stay awake for it!" Fuller yelled out from three rows up.

Chuckling, Seaver said, "You mean you'll stay _up _for it?" All the guys had a good horse laugh, and the pent-up testosterone fueled one comment after the next until all the usual loudmouths had thrown in their two cents.

Emmett's phone was burning a hole in his pocket, but he didn't have a chance to pull it out again until he was safely locked in the bathroom of room 1722.

**Sorry about cutting you off. The guys were feeling chatty tonight.**

**No problem. You should enjoy your victory with your teammates.**

**Plenty of time for that on the plane tomorrow if we sweep the Royals.**

**Right—flying to Chicago tomorrow night. **

**Yep, 3 more nights of captivity.**

**Any chance you can get your own room at the hotel?**

**Not without raising suspicion. Only the married guys do that when their wives are in town. I can manage.**

**Would it help if I "managed" too?**

_Was he serious? _**Are you offering to abstain with me?**

**If that's what you're doing, yes.**

**Wow.**

**It seems only fair—but you know what that means?**

**We're both gonna be horny as fuck when I get home?**

**That's highly likely, but not what I meant. If you do get a chance to take care of business, you have to tell me so I can too!**

**Well, that certainly adds a new dimension to things! **_Inflicting a bit of torture on Edward might be well worth the abstinence! Then again, having to report in is kind of . . . day-umm! Sounds like a win-win situation. _

**Is that a yes?**

**Absolutely! You're on. And just so you know, I plan to have one hell of a nasty dream about you tonight and take care of myself in the shower first thing tomorrow morning.**

**Game on!**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you guys for filling my inbox with so much happiness and love over the weekend!  
The story is in such a sweet spot right here, and I'm glad you're all enjoying it!

**XXX ~BOH**


	27. Chapter 27

**XXX CHAPTER 27 XXX**

**Enjoy your morning jerk . . . on me! **Emmett typed with a huge grin, mostly because he'd just done the same in the shower, but also because he was happily picturing Edward doing exactly that—jerking _on him_. Too bad Edward wouldn't be awake for another couple of hours to see his reward. After all, he'd earned it with his starring role last night in Emmett's dreams.

_Fuuuuck, three more long nights of this shit._ But then, the prize would be that much sweeter. Best case scenario, the team would land at Sea-Tac around three a.m. Monday; Emmett would grab a few hours of shut-eye and haul his ass out of bed to spend the next thirty hours glued to Edward's lips and hips. _Um, you might want to ask the guy if he has plans._

**We're on for Monday, right? Running in the a.m., maybe grab some lunch, you can cook me dinner…? **

Emmett chuckled as he added that last bit, a little fantasy he couldn't seem to push out of his mind. And who cared if Edward wasn't inclined toward cooking? Takeout in an apron would more than satisfy.

Was this domestic bliss really his for the taking? Emmett was getting a little giddy about the whole _Leave It To Beaver_ homecoming scene until a pang of uncle guilt hit him in the gut. Bad enough Emmett wanted to blow off dinner at his sister's, but he hadn't missed spending his day off with Sawyer since returning from spring training. Alice would understand, but what about Sawyer? _Shit_.

Emmett had a feeling Edward would enjoy the batting cage as much as, if not more than, Sawyer. What a shame he couldn't bring Edward along with them.

Or could he?

Emmett reflected on the dinner conversation at the Whitlocks' where the topic of gay weddings had come up. It's not that Sawyer wouldn't be cool with Edward; it was just that the poor little guy would have a secret that would become impossible to keep when he happened to see Edward at his new school. No, Emmett couldn't dare risk being exposed or asking Sawyer to cover for him without having to explain why he was hiding in the closet in the first place. So, that was that. No triple playdate for them.

Emmett must've checked his phone ten times between 7:30 and 9, willing Edward to wake the hell up so he could get some confirmation about Monday. When his text notification finally buzzed, Emmett was on his second trip to the breakfast buffet.

**Oh, good morning! :) Hmm…I'll be back in five.**

**Enjoy yourself! **Emmett smiled at his phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

He passed through the buffet line, barely seeing the feast laid out before him, too busy picturing the Edward-shaped buffet laid out in his imagination. As Emmett mounded a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate, he visualized Edward lying on his back, hand snaking under the covers . . . Would there be boxers? Briefs? Nothing? Emmett would have to make it a point to ask so he could get a proper visual for next time.

Five minutes, Edward had said. He'd be about halfway there, Emmett mused as he took a banana from the platter. _The voyeur-cam panned slowly up the ridges of Edward's abs—one part of Edward's body Emmett didn't have to wonder about—until reaching his O-face._ Damn, Emmett was plumping up inside his running shorts! Walking back to his table, he held the banana strategically to cover the growing bulge in his crotch.

How Emmett was supposed to sit here and eat with Edward's whimpering noises playing in his head, he had no fucking clue. It certainly didn't help things when Emmett's phone vibrated in his shorts, pretty much announcing Edward had popped his nut. As much as he was dying to look, Emmett couldn't read Edward's message at the table without giving himself away. Shoveling in the rest of his eggs and rising with banana in hand, Emmett made a quick excuse to go upstairs.

He whipped out his phone as soon as the elevator doors closed, grinning at Edward's message.

**Now, what's that you were saying about my cooking?**

_Okay, Mr. Nonchalant. We'll just gloss right over what you were just doing. _Emmett typed his response, but it wouldn't send until he left the steel cage of the elevator. **You seem like the nurturing type. Figured you had some culinary skills.**

**As a matter of fact, I do.**

Score! **I'd like to give you a chance to show those off.**

**Would you, now?**

**Mmhmm.**

**Okay, what's your pleasure?**

_You're my pleasure, I hope._ **Surprise me. **Emmett was certain Edward would get the reference to his locker room comment. Opening the door to his room, he headed straight for the balcony in case Fuller returned before they were finished.

**Any allergies?**

**Nope. I'm pretty adventurous.**

**Challenge accepted.**

**Can't wait to taste your cooking! **

**You sure you don't mind missing dinner with your family? **

**I'm sure. I'll take Sawyer out for a couple hours mid-day and head to your place as soon as I can. **What a damn relief it was not to have to pretend anymore! At least, not when it was just the two of them.

**Sounds great. And in case it's not obvious, feel free to bring your toothbrush.**

**I might just do that. What kind of toothpaste do you use?**

**What kind do you want? Apparently, I'm grocery shopping before your visit. And how do you take your coffee?**

**Crest and black.**

**Noted. What's your plan today?**

**Intense boredom followed by a light workout with the team at 2, more time-killing, and flying out to Chicago late tonight.**

**Poor baby. Should we play some chess?**

**If you dare…**

**Bring it, McCarty!**

**Okay. I'll find you over at yahoo in a little bit.**

**Sure. **

**Hey, before you go—I need to know something.**

**Okay?**

**What do you wear to bed?**

**I guess you'll find out when you spend the night.**

**That won't work. You're not wearing anything when I'm there! I want to know what you were wearing this morning when you got my message.**

***taking more notes* Very well. Last night, I went to bed in my Under Armour boxerjocks. They come six to a pack in assorted colors, and I happened to have been in a red mood. Happy now?**

**Extremely. **

XXX

"Intense boredom" didn't begin to cover the next two days, and the nights were even longer. Emmett must've been some kind of masochist to ask Edward for the specifics, and now he truly understood the expression about the devil living in the details. The devil in tight, red boxer briefs, to be exact. And since that sweet visual had been tossed his direction, Emmett had had zero opportunity to take advantage of it. His erection was his constant companion, and trying to concentrate on chess was doing the exact opposite of taking his mind off the problem.

He stared at the game board, but all Emmett could see was Edward on the opposite side in nothing but those sexy underwear, a situation that made strategy—or even basic thinking—more challenging than usual.

**That's a horrible move! You just put your queen in peril. Look at my knight! **Edward typed in the dialogue box below their game.

**It's all part of my plan,** Emmett wrote back.

**Does your king have a death wish?**

**Tell me what you're wearing right now.**

**No! FOCUS.**

**I'm trying!**

**Look at the board, Emmett. Forget about the man behind the game. I'm not even here. White army against black. Pull back your queen and try again.**

**Okay, fine. **Emmett replayed the move, sending his bishop out to threaten the black queen.

**Better.**

**I can't forget you're there if you keep talking to me!**

**Okay, radio silence it is.**

Emmett lasted a few moves longer this time, capturing more of the black army than he had in the past, but it wasn't nearly as much fun without Edward chatting with him. **Come back! I'll do better.**

**Okay. Nothing exciting going on here. I'm wearing a fleece-lined parka and baggy jeans.**

**Nice try.**

**Ugh, you're a mess over there. You have to find some time to get away tonight and take care of business.**

Emmett smiled. **For my sake or yours?**

**Both of us! It's been 51 hours.**

**Hmm, maybe I can sneak into the locker room tonight during the game.**

**Locker room? *gulp***

**Yes. **The shift couldn't be missed; with the simple mention of the locker room, Emmett had regained the upper hand. **I'll strip out of my uniform and wrap one of my sweaty workout towels around my neck. I'll close my eyes and think about you, stroke myself till I'm good and hard…**

Emmett paused, leaving Edward twisting and begging for more.

**DON'T STOP THERE!**

With a giant grin plastered on his face, Emmett continued typing. **Then I'll walk nice and slow over to the urinals, because I'm all alone in here and I can do exactly as I please.**

**You are killing me.**

_I'm killing myself too, Edward, but damn, what a sweet way to go! _**I'll think of you in those boxers…and me shoving them down your hips and taking what's mine and…**

**AND... ?**

**And that should do it! :) **

**Agreed.**

**So you're with me? Top of the fourth tonight, I head inside after the first out.**

**Seriously?**

**Hell, yes. Unless you want me to explode.**

**No, we can't have that.**

**It's a date.**

**You romantic fool.**

**Right now, it's about survival. One more day after this, and we're home for seven days. **_And have I got plans for you._

**I can't argue with your logic. "See you" later.**

XXX

"Hey, sis. How was church?"

"Pretty exciting, as usual. How's Chicago?"

"I'm ready to come home."

"Right. Will we see you tomorrow night for dinner?"

"That's why I'm calling. I have good news and bad news."

"I think I've already figured out the bad news," she said. "Let's hear the good part."

"I have a date."

"Hmm, you and Tammy rekindling your fauxmance?"

Emmett ignored the twinge of disapproval in Alice's voice. "No, Alice. I have an actual, real live date. With a man."

"Whoa! That's amazing! You two are going _out_, as in 'out into the world'?"

The knot tightened in Emmett's gut. "Not exactly. It's more of a stay-in date, but before you yell at me, we have gone out in public before."

"You _have_?"

"Yes, as friends. This is my . . ." _Edward._ "Remember that Twitter guy?"

"Oh, yes. Your hashtagger. What was it? MacPerfect?"

"Yep."

"He's the one you're dating?"

"Well, it's very, very new. Embryonic. But I really like him—"

"And obviously, he likes you," Alice said with a chuckle.

"Yes."

"Can I ask a stupid question?"

"Don't you always?"

"Haha. If you've been out together before, why do you feel like you have to hide now?"

Emmett sighed, scrolling through their non-dates of brunch and lunch and dinner, running and swimming, and their online banter. "Because now that we're _together_, anyone paying the slightest bit of attention to the two of us would see how we really feel."

"Oh, little brother, you sound like you're in deep. I can't remember you talking about anyone like this for . . . well, ever! In fact, I don't think I've ever heard you say you were on a date before!"

Emmett chuffed. "No, I wouldn't have described any of my previous encounters as dates."

"Well, I could not be happier for you. This fan of yours, he's a stand-up guy?"

"Alice, honestly, he's way too good for me. I'm just hoping he won't figure that out for a while."

"Oh, pshhh! You're not so bad when you're not being a cocky ass."

"Thanks, Alice."

"You bet. So this is what your secret meetings with Jas have been about?"

"Yes. He helped me sort things out. By the way, I haven't actually told him that I took the plunge, so feel free to pass along my news."

"I'm sure he will be extremely pleased to hear it. So, when do we get to meet this mystery man?"

Laughter flew out of Emmett's mouth. "Considering we've been together for all of an hour, followed by a week of being separated by half a country, I'd say we need a wee bit more time before I unleash my family on the poor guy."

"As you wish, but when you're ready, you know we're here."

"Thanks, Alice. Really. I actually can't wait for you to meet him. He's amazing."

"Aww, you are so cute when you're love-struck, you know that?"

"Excellent, that's just what I'm going for here."

"Oh, don't worry, Big Mac. I won't blow your cover."

"Thank you, and speaking of which, if you could not say anything to Sawyer . . ."

"Of course. You can share if and when you're ready."

"It's just that Edward is going to be teaching at Sawyer's school this fall. They probably won't cross paths, but I can't risk it. I'm sure you understand."

"That's quite the coincidence!"

"Isn't it?"

"No problem. I can be very discreet when I need to be."

"Great. So, about Monday, can I pick Soy up around two? I'll bring him home in time for dinner."

"After you stuff him with candy and ice cream," Alice said, only slightly chagrined.

"Naturally."

"Sure, Em. I can't wait to see your big, goofy smile."

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to torture me mercilessly?"

"Because you're not as dumb as you look?"

"I love you too, Alice."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Another few days of separation, but the boys appear to be *handling* things okay. How about you? Would you believe one reader told me she hoped they didn't get back together right away? I am seriously loving the reviews. You guys are asking such great questions, predicting such fantastic scenes, filling my head with ideas and more ideas...It seems there's more than meets the eye! *wink*

**XXX ~BOH**


	28. Chapter 28

**XXX CHAPTER 28 XXX**

Emmett checked his phone for the fourth time since arriving at Edward's front door. Yep, it was still 3:26 a.m. His feet should've turned toward the driveway, should've carried him back to the stupid car that drove him here at this ungodly hour, should've pushed the gas pedal until his ass was safe and sound in his own parking spot twenty-five miles away from Edward's front stoop.

But none of that was happening. He was here, and he was staying. The only question burning a hole through his brain was whether to call Edward on the phone or ring the doorbell. Emmett searched his memory for the doorbell tone. Was it one of those obnoxious Winchester Cathedral chimes or something less abusive? He wanted to wake Edward, not scare the crap out of him.

"Fuck it!" Emmett's knuckles took charge of the situation, rapping softly against the thick walnut. "C'mon, c'mon . . ." Shimmying through the bushes like a common burglar casing the joint, Emmett peered through the living room window. No movement.

"Dammit!" Emmett shuffled back to the door and knocked again with a little more force, scurrying into Peeping Tom mode with his heart pounding a samba in his chest. A light went on toward the back of the house, and Emmett bolted to the stoop, flicking off telltale scraps of leaf debris from his shirt and shorts.

A crackly voice floated through the front door. "Is somebody there?"

"Yes!" _Brilliant,_ Emmett thought, shaking his head at his idiot self. "It's me."

"Emmett?" The door opened to a completely dazed, wild-haired, eye-rubbing, bare-chested Edward.

"Hey, you're wearing shorts!"

Edward squinted at him, then shook his head. "What time is it?"

"Um . . . it's pretty late . . . or early, depending on how you look at it. Three something?"

"Are you okay?"

Was he? His heart was racing, palms were sweating, and he'd been awake for twenty hours with the singular thought of this reunion playing through his mind—though not exactly like this. "I think so. Can I come in?"

"Of course." Edward stepped out of the doorway, watching Emmett suspiciously while scratching his long, sexy fingers through the wild mop on top of his head.

"I, um . . ." Emmett began, somewhat at a loss now that he was actually standing here. "I'm just now realizing this is completely inappropriate . . . and extremely embarrassing."

The fog of sleepy confusion lifted from Edward's eyes, and the beginnings of a grin appeared on his lips. "Is this a booty call?"

"It sounds so crass when you put it that way."

"How would you put it?"

Emmett stared into the intense green eyes he had not quite successfully conjured while they'd been apart. "I missed you."

"Jesus." Edward dropped his hand to his opposite arm. "I don't care what you say; I'm totally pinching myself."

"I have a better idea." Emmett launched himself at Edward, grabbing him at the scruff of his neck and locking him in place while Emmett crashed his mouth against the lips he'd been dreaming of nonstop since their first kiss.

Edward groaned when their tongues met, and Emmett was toast. One long, hard loaf of toast. A baguette. Desperate for contact, he slid one hand down Edward's back and yanked him in tight. A hand closed over Emmett's ass and squeezed. He opened his stance and hugged Edward's leg like a monkey climbing a tree.

This was all happening too fast and too rough, nothing like the smooth, romantic approach Emmett had fantasized for tomorrow morning: showing up at Edward's ten minutes before their agreed-upon time, a bottle of cabernet in hand to accompany their dinner, a soft kiss to start things off . . . no resemblance to the mauling that was going on here, not that Emmett had anything against a good mauling, but if he didn't slow things down, he was going to come in his shorts, and that was one no-hitter Emmett had no intention of throwing.

Loosening his grip on Edward's neck, Emmett drew back from their kiss and reluctantly put some space between their hips. "I really should apologize. I'm behaving like an animal here, and I can't quite seem to stop."

Edward's head tipped to one side as he gazed back at Emmett through glassy eyes. "Do you have any idea how many times you've come knocking at my door in my dreams?"

Emmett laughed and shook his head. Of course Edward would figure out a way to make this okay. "At three a.m.?"

Smiling, Edward reached for Emmett's hand, looking up shyly as he ran his thumb across Emmett's knuckles. "You really think I mind?"

He didn't act like a guy who minded; Emmett would give him that. Emmett looked down at their joined hands as a blush rose from the base of his neck. "So how does this dream end?"

"Oh," Edward said with a chuckle, "a wide variety of ways. How would you like it to end?"

Managing a grin, Emmett answered, "With a whole lot less clothes on."

Edward gave him a hungry once-over that shot straight to Emmett's groin. "How about I show you my bedroom?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

With a slight tug on Emmett's hand, Edward led him to the one room he hadn't seen before. A king bed centered between two windows took up most of the floor space. One side of the bed was completely mussed, blankets and sheets untucked and pillow askew, while the other side could've met the toughest drill sergeant's standards.

"I guess we know which side is yours," Emmett said, nerves shaking the humor out of his voice.

"I'm flexible." Letting go of Emmett's hand, Edward reached for the lamp on his nightstand.

"Wait—leave it on."

By the looks of the kid-in-the-candy-store expression on Edward's face, he was more than okay with it.

Emmett stepped into the light, cupped Edward's cheek, and stared into his eyes as long as he could before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Edward stood stock still as Emmett's fingers trailed the length of his neck. The soft whir of air conditioning cut off, leaving the room silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing. Edward's eyes fluttered closed as Emmett's fingertips brushed across his shoulder and traced a random path traversing light and shadow across his chest. Reminded of Edward's comment about his three chest hairs, Emmett smiled to himself. Even joking, Edward's accuracy was dead on.

Emmett was torn; while he desperately wanted to ogle the body he was finally free to explore, Edward's open-mouthed bliss was too compelling not to watch. _You are so fucking hot, _his heart was bursting to tell Edward, but Emmett swallowed the words—for now. He stepped closer to Edward's body, the hairs on their thighs just barely brushing. Emmett's fingers found the sharp points of Edward's nipples, and he pinched, catching Edward's moan with a gentle kiss.

Fully roused and aroused, Edward reached for Emmett's shirt, balling the fabric in his fists and yanking it up over his head. Edward paused to take in what he'd just uncovered, licked his lips, and swallowed hard.

Punch drunk on Edward's need, Emmett pushed him further. "My shorts are feeling a little tight all of a sudden. Mind helping me with that?"

Edward's gaze took a sudden dive to ground zero. Chomping down on the insides of his cheeks, he sucked in a deep breath and reached with shaky fingers for Emmett's hips. As if worried this was all too good to be true and Emmett might change his mind at any moment, Edward grasped the shorts and tugged them down in one swift motion. His eyes locked on the bulge pressing against Emmett's tight white briefs. "Oh god, this is happening," he said under his breath.

_Yes, finally. _"Touch me," Emmett said, sliding his hands to Edward's waist and rubbing his thumbs in short, soft arcs up and down Edward's sides.

Edward pulled in a deep breath and nodded while letting it go. He looked more like a guy preparing to dive head first off a craggy cliff than one about to caress his lover. "Here goes," he said out loud to himself before placing his fingertips low on Emmett's stomach.

A hiss escaped Emmett, followed by a soft chuckle. "That tickles."

"Sorry," Edward said. "Is it okay if I . . ." He trailed off with an embarrassed shake of his head.

"Edward." Emmett waited for Edward to turn his blushing face toward him. "Yes, it's okay. Whatever you want, just do it."

With a brief nod, Edward sank to his knees and pressed his mouth to Emmett's belly button.

"Fuck!" Emmett's knees wobbled as Edward's tongue swept across his skin. The man was drinking him in, one ab at a time, and moaning all the while as if he were devouring a hot fudge sundae. Emmett's hands moved through Edward's crazy hair, spurring more moans and groans. Emmett did his best to remain vertical while Edward devoured the contours of his "v," skating his tongue across the edge of Emmett's briefs when he reached the bottom, then licking his way up the other side and ending with a sloppy kiss at Emmett's left hip.

"You're killing me, Professor."

Edward stood, grinning widely as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "If you had any idea how long I've dreamt about doing that . . ."

"You know, I have a few dreams of my own."

Edward's eyebrows popped up. "About me?"

"Hell yes. Starting with your boxerjocks, or whatever the hell you called them. What's the deal with these shorts anyway?" Emmett plucked at the loose material hanging from Edward's hips while making sure his scowl couldn't be missed.

Edward chuckled. "I had to get the door, remember?"

"Edward, who the hell did you think was at the door at three-fucking-thirty in the morning?"

With a little gleam in his eye, Edward hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. "Do you want to yell at me some more, or do you want to see what color I picked tonight?"

Stepping back so he could see better, Emmett folded his arms over his chest. "Carry on."

In a sexy move that made Emmett picture Edward in front of a stripper pole, he swiveled his hips while inching down his shorts, revealing a second skin of bright blue barely concealing a beast of a hard-on Emmett was itching to grab. Edward's arms dropped to his sides as he endured Emmett's inspection without puffing up or flexing a single muscle.

"Wow."

Edward's modest, "Yeah?" drew Emmett's gaze up to Edward's blushing cheeks.

"Yeah," Emmett answered, stepping closer and grabbing Edward's hips. "Not that I don't appreciate what you're packing up front, but I really need to see the back."

Edward's eyes darkened with lust as Emmett's grip tightened on his hips. With a little push for encouragement, Edward spun around, glancing back over his shoulder. The bathing suit was mighty fine, but this was unquestionably better, Emmett decided even before his hands grabbed the ass cheeks driving him to madness. Letting out a soft moan, Edward closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto Emmett's shoulder.

Emmett's hands roamed and squeezed, and when the pressure in his groin was too much to take, he flexed his hips forward, rubbing his erection against the electric blue wonder shorts. Leaning back into Emmett's chest, Edward wriggled his ass, riding Emmett every which way.

Fighting the mounting tension, Emmett hissed into Edward's ear. "_Fuuuck_, the things I want to do to you!"

"_Unh_, the things I _want_ you to do to me!" Edward answered frantically, lifting his arms and circling Emmett's neck.

"If you don't stop grinding on my cock right now, we're not gonna get to any of the good stuff," Emmett said, pushing Edward away from his crotch with a friendlier-than-friendly swat.

Edward spun around, radiating need from every pore. "This isn't the good stuff?"

_Oh, Edward._

Emmett chuckled. "Why don't you get that little blue ass of yours up on the bed, and I'll show you what I had in mind."

Edward lunged for the bed, scrambled up toward the headboard, and flopped onto his back, blinking up expectantly at Emmett. Anticipation and restraint had their time and place, but that wasn't now, here in this room. Emmett climbed up after him and settled between Edward's knees. Locked on his gaze, Emmett placed his hands on Edward's ankles and slowly slid his hands up Edward's legs. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was Edward's only visible response.

Emmett reached the edge of Edward's boxers and slipped probing thumbs underneath the fabric, rising ever closer to the junction between his legs. Edward tensed under Emmett's fingertips, his runner's thighs tightening into steel bands just beneath the surface of his skin.

"Relax," Emmett whispered.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Edward's hands balled into tight fists around the sheets.

Chuckling softly, Emmett shook his head. "Okay, never mind," he said, swooping down and pressing his open mouth over the long lump in the tight undershorts. Exhaling warm, moist air over the surface, Emmett traced the length of Edward's erection with his lips and teeth.

"Ahh!" Edward yelped and bucked his hips. "Oh GOD!"

Ignoring Edward's squirming, Emmett circled his thumbs over Edward's balls, his fingers pressing further inside the boxers, meeting heated flesh.

"Emmett! Please!"

Emmett lifted his head and smirked at him. Sliding his palm between the fabric and Edward's skin, Emmett teased him with a feathery caress. "Please what?"

_Please finish me off, _Emmett imagined he might be thinking, or, _please stop now before I blow my load! _

But as usual, Edward surprised him by reaching out and giving Emmett's thigh a strong tug. "I want you too," he confessed, the raw need etched into his features.

Emmett was planning on waiting to get his, but there was no way he could deny the lust-filled eyes pleading up at him. "Greedy, greedy," Emmett teased, giving Edward's dick a goodbye squeeze as he slid his hands from the boxers. Scooting off the bed, Emmett hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs. "I suppose you want me to take these off, too."

Edward leaned up onto his elbows, not about to miss a second of the show. "Yes, please."

Well aware that his comment would go completely ignored, Emmett said, "I have never been so turned on by perfect manners in my life." A veteran of locker rooms and communal showers, Emmett couldn't remember the last time he gave a thought to undressing, but then, nobody had ever looked at him the way Edward was looking at him right now—as if he'd waited half his life to see what was inside those briefs.

That naked-on-the-mound sensation struck him again as he lifted the elastic safely over his weeping cock. A huge smile spread across Edward's face, and he lifted his hips and shimmied out of his magical blue boxers as fast as Emmett had ever seen anyone do.

"Oh, Professor," Emmett said with a grin as he climbed back on the bed. "I think we are going to have ourselves some fun!"

"I'm already having fun," Edward said, sinking back into the mattress as Emmett spread his legs over Edward's head.

Giving his erection a nice, slow stroke, Emmett said, "Hmm, maybe you don't even need this."

With a ferocity Emmett had not seen from him before, Edward looped his arms around Emmett's thighs and yanked him down into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck! Okay, gimme a chance here!" Emmett dropped forward indelicately, managing to get his lips around Edward's cock.

Edward answered with a muffled "_Mmmph_," the hum buzzing around Emmett's engorged cock like a thousand tiny vibrators.

Concentration was becoming a struggle, and Emmett finally gave up when Edward's enthusiastic tongue was joined by the firm grip of his hands—one working his balls and the other pressing into his hole. He was giving poor Edward the worst blowjob ever, forgetting himself in the ecstasy and realizing long seconds later that he'd been nursing the penis in his mouth like an all-day sucker.

Emmett lapped at him enthusiastically, making up for lost time, but then Edward worked some new kind of voodoo on him, and Emmett feared he might accidentally bite down and do the guy some damage. _I'll make it up to him,_ he promised himself as the pleasure mounted and Emmett finally succumbed to defeat, nuzzling his face into the base of Edward's cock while the sharp peak overtook him.

Emmett's entire being shook with the force of the orgasm ramming through his body, and there was no letting up of lips or tongue or fingers. His head exploded into a million pieces as he rode out the intense release. Once his breath returned, Emmett latched onto the waiting erection with renewed vigor. Edward had rocked his world, and he planned to return the favor.

By Emmett's estimation, Edward lasted all of thirty seconds. While Emmett coaxed out the last drops of his pleasure, Edward let out a strangled cry that made Emmett's spent cock twitch in solidarity. Emmett rolled off Edward's body and landed beside him like a tree that had just met the business end of an ax.

A faint, "Thanks," came from the vicinity of Emmett's feet.

"No, Edward, thank _you_."

A hand flopped over Emmett's ankles. "That was totally my pleasure," Edward said.

"So . . . wow," Emmett said, barely mustering the energy to speak, "now I'm wondering . . ."

"Yes?"

"Is that 69 in your screen name really for me? Because I have to say, you seem extremely passionate about the act."

Edward's tired laughter rippled its way down to Emmett's ears. "It's a very happy coincidence."

"How about turning off that light now? I'm beat."

With a dramatic groan Emmett was sure was entirely for his benefit, Edward leaned across Emmett's legs and reached for the lamp. Grinning slyly at the exhausted heap of man next to him, Edward asked, "You gonna stay down there all night?"

"It's starting to look that way."

A pillow flew through the air and landed on Emmett's face. The light went out. Sheets rustled at the opposite end of the bed. Another pillow plopped near Emmett's head. A warm man nestled beside him.

Emmett rolled onto his side and threw a leg across Edward's hip. "'Night, Professor."

"'Night, Sixty-nine."

* * *

**Author's Note:** There ya go. *smiles* I really am loving all your comments and wild imaginings about future scenes between these two. You guys could have this story going on forever...

**XXX ~BOH**


	29. Chapter 29

**XXX CHAPTER 29 XXX**

_Coffee. _

_Bacon! _

_Someone sucking my dick. Mmmm, wet, hot, tight. Soft hair tickling my thighs. Grunty, happy humming noises. _

_Best dream ever . . ._

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Emmett shouted, startling himself out of his half-sleep state into a blurred reality, a series of memories sharpening into focus as he woke.

_Late-night drive to Edward's . . . _

_Blue. _

_Dat ass. _

_Magic wand._

_Mouth! Lips. Tongue. Hands. Fingers. _

"Unh! Feels _so_ gooood."

_How long had Edward been at it this morning? _His head bobbed enthusiastically between Emmett's legs, tantalizing, teasing, tonguing, and tipping Emmett toward that razor-sharp edge of the cliff. Grasping a handful of the floppy bronze mop moving between his legs, Emmett tugged.

"I'm close!"

Edward lifted his head, letting Emmett's morning wood slide out of his mouth and slap against his belly. The harsh contrast of the cool air prickled his wet skin.

"Good! Your breakfast is getting cold." Edward grinned and swallowed Emmett down again before he had time to complain.

"Ahhh! Jeeeeesus Fuck!" The stop and start got the better of him—or maybe it was that shit-eating smirk on his lover's face. With a crazed thrust of his hips, Emmett came hard, plunging into Edward's mouth like a prize stud earning his paycheck. Edward held fast, riding the bucking bronco while the orgasm tore through.

Eyeing the wreckage with a broad smile, Edward pushed up onto his knees. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Why yes, it is, but why are you dressed?"

"Underwear is 'dressed'?"

"Yes!"

"Um, have you ever cooked bacon?"

"Right. Good point."

"Now, if Your Majesty wouldn't mind moving his ass to the proper end of the bed . . ."

Emmett scurried to the headboard, propped up two pillows behind his back, and rubbed his hands together. "I can't remember the last time I was served breakfast in bed." At that moment, Emmett couldn't have said whether he was more excited about the tray of food being placed over his stomach or the hot guy in the clingy grey boxers serving it to him.

"Here you are. Two eggs over easy, extra crispy bacon, whole wheat toast, fresh berries, and a pot of black coffee."

"Wow, this looks amazing. I'm starved!"

"Enjoy," he said, perched on the edge of the bed with his coffee mug.

"Aren't you eating?

"I ate two hours ago."

"What? What time is it? Holy shit! Ten-thirty? How did I sleep so late? I never sleep this late!"

"I didn't have the heart to wake you," Edward said with a smile. "You looked so happy all upside-down and tangled in the sheets."

"I was very happy," Emmett answered, then raised his eyebrows. "And you definitely woke me."

"Not my fault." Edward shook his head, hair flying adorably all around his face. "I was trying to finish you off while you were asleep, but somebody was a bit loud."

Emmett grunted as he chomped on a piece of bacon. "Huh, you're awfully proud of yourself over there."

Edward rewarded him with another I-just-blew-your-mind grin that disappeared tactfully into his coffee mug. "I guess we're not running this morning."

With half an eye on Edward, Emmett poured out a mug of coffee for himself and topped off Edward's. "Maybe we can find another way to work off our breakfast."

"We could do the dishes," Edward said, adding a soft chuckle. "You should see my kitchen. I didn't even know I had a couple of those pans."

Smiling around his coffee, Emmett said, "That's not exactly where I was going."

"You don't say."

Emmett set down his mug, just now noticing the big, teal "M" for the first time. Popping a few blueberries into his mouth, Emmett caught the skittish expression on Edward's face. "Something wrong?"

_Shit, are we moving too fast? Or worse—could he be disappointed? _

_Face it, you haven't exactly been the most considerate lover._

_Knowing Edward, he probably had me pegged for God's gift between the sheets. _

The corners of Edward's mouth turned down. _Damn, something really is bothering him_. "I didn't want you to think I open my door in the middle of the night for . . . you know, just anyone."

"I should hope not!"

"And I haven't served anyone breakfast in bed since . . . well, it's been a while."

Suddenly, Emmett's coffee didn't sit so well in his stomach. He moved the tray to the nightstand and patted the bed beside him. "Will you come over here please?"

With a guilty, sheepish frown, Edward set his coffee on the tray and crawled underneath Emmett's extended arm. "I didn't mean to spoil your breakfast."

"You didn't. It was delicious, and I appreciate it—and you."

"I know."

"Do you? Because I'm thinking you don't feel respected, and shame on me for that."

Edward tucked his head into Emmett's shoulder. "Ugh, I feel like one of those baseball wives you were talking about. You dropped that little 'I have feelings for you' bomb on me before leaving me here for a week to ruminate on our kiss, and I kind of forgot we hadn't even officially started dating."

"Maybe not, but we've already been out to breakfast, lunch, and dinner, run forty miles together, and played about fifty games of chess—and that's not counting what happened last night. Hell, this is practically our hundredth date!"

Edward smiled, but he didn't quite look convinced.

"Look, I know I raced over here in the wee hours of the morning like some horny teenager because basically that's what I am, thanks to you, but I'm not just in this for the sex."

"Ugh," Edward said semi-playfully, "don't tell me you're yet another man who wants me for my mind."

"Truth be told, you had me at your first tweet."

The smirk on Edward's face opened into a broad smile. "Really?"

"Really. That said, the day I met you in the locker room . . ." _What the hell is this? True confessions time? _"Never mind."

Leaning in, Edward placed his hand on Emmett's chest. Slender thumb and fingers wandered across the expanse of his torso and trapped Emmett's nipple. "Tell me."

With a glance downward, Emmett grinned. "Is that supposed to be an incentive or a threat?"

Edward shrugged. "Take it how you will." With a devilish gleam in his eye, he pinched until a tight bud formed. "Tell me."

_And I'm hard again. _"Now look what you've done."

Edward's glance took a leisurely stroll down Emmett's naked body, landing squarely on the log between his legs. "What _were_ you thinking about in that locker room, Emmett McCarty?"

"Are you sure you can handle it?" Emmett asked.

"Mmhmm." A little peek of pink tongue swiped across Edward's upper lip, and Emmett knew he had taken back the upper hand.

"I was thinking about doing this," he said, scissoring his legs around Edward's waist. Using a wrestling maneuver he'd learned in high school, Emmett flipped Edward onto his stomach and sprawled out along the length of his back. "And after I tackled you to the floor, I was planning to do a whole lot of this."

Emmett circled his hips and thrust, licking the shell of Edward's ear while he had him pinned to the bed. Edward's heavy breathing spurred him on, and Emmett carried on for several sweet minutes before rolling off to the side, one leg slung possessively over Edward's back. "Something along those lines," he said.

Turning his head, Edward cracked a smile. "That would've definitely worked for me."

"Yeah, just one little problem," Emmett said. "You might have noticed I'm not much for PDA."

"I can live with that."

"Are you sure? Because I can't risk it, Edward. As much as I like you, we can't be this couple in public. Are you really going to be okay with that?"

Edward tipped onto his side, anchoring his hip under Emmett's knee, and beamed the brightest smile Emmett had seen yet. "We're a couple?"

"Jesus, talk about your selective hearing!" Emmett chuckled. "Have you not noticed I've monopolized every second of your time and thought about you nonstop when we're apart?"

"I didn't know it was _every_ second." Edward could barely contain his grin.

"Hmm, let's see. I might've had a free brain cell in between the chess games, the texting, the talking, and the beating off . . . oh wait, that leaves no time."

A broad smile etched deep crinkles at the corners of Edward's eyes. "And here I was under the impression you were practicing baseball."

"Pshh, barely."

"Now, now, what would your coaches have to say about that?" Edward asked with a sly shake of his head.

Tightening his leg around Edward's back, Emmett tugged him into his body. "I guess that'll have to be our little secret."

"You're just full of secrets, Mr. McCarty."

"Mmhmm, and you just inherited every one," Emmett said.

"My lips are sealed."

Emmett relaxed for the first time in a long while. "So you're game, then? To be this very private couple?"

"Nah." Edward sidled closer and wrapped his hand around the back of Emmett's neck; they kissed. Edward's hand left Emmett's head, slid down his back, found his ass, and squeezed. "Mm, maybe."

Emmett chuckled and reached in to cup the bulge in Edward's boxers. "Sounds like you need more convincing."

"I suppose you could give it your best shot."

"Yeah, I certainly haven't done that yet." Despite the light tone, Emmett's comment revealed the embarrassment he'd been harboring over his less-than-stellar performance.

"Have you heard me complaining?"

"No, but then, you've had your mouth full."

"Yes, very, very full."

Burrowing his way inside Edward's boxers, Emmett stroked the bare flesh beneath his fingers. "I had to unclamp my mouth last night, you know. I was worried for your safety."

"Is that so?" Edward flashed a new grin, his hands working Emmett's cheeks.

"Yes, I wasn't thinking straight. I couldn't be trusted not to bite off something important."

"Yikes! Thank you, I guess," Edward said.

"Yeah, so I really think it's best if you just lie here, looking all pretty, and let me do my thing without distractions."

Edward pulled back his hand and held it out in front of him like a bank teller being held up at gunpoint.

"That's it." Emmett nodded, rolling Edward onto his back. "Just like that. In fact, why don't you fold your arms behind your head? Just in case you get any urges to reach out and touch something."

Edward's smirk went directly to Emmett's cock. "Okay, but just this once," he said. "This is torture for me, you know."

Crawling between Edward's legs, Emmett answered him. "It's good for you, puts hair on your chest. Now shut up and close your eyes."

Edward followed orders, drawing in a shaky sigh as Emmett grasped his boxers and slid them down and away. Placing his palms flat against Edward's thighs, Emmett slowly drew his hands up until they met on either side of Edward's erection. Edward squirmed and hissed beneath him, and Emmett settled in for a long, happy, uninterrupted session.

"In case I haven't said this out loud—and I honestly can't remember if I did last night—you are one sexy beast, Professor."

"Let me watch," Edward begged. "Please. I've done _this_ before . . . _unhhh _. . . imagining you . . . _oh GOD!_ . . . I'm opening my eyes, okay, please?"

"You and your manners," Emmett said with a chuckle. "Okay, since you asked so nicely, you can watch."

Edward's eyes popped open, and he snagged a nearby pillow and stuffed it behind his head. Emmett played to the audience, giving his palm a long, wet lick before gripping Edward's shaft again. "Feel good?"

"Yessss." Edward whimpered and threw his head back.

"Unh, unh, unh, you said you were gonna watch."

With a gasp and a muttered swear Emmett couldn't make out, Edward tipped his chin down and locked eyes with him. Emmett smiled and stretched out onto his belly between Edward's thighs. "That's a good boy." Without warning, he slid his hand to the base of Edward's shaft and swiped his tongue around the tip. "Mmm, better than breakfast." Emmett made a lewd display of sucking Edward down until his lips reached the neatly trimmed hairs.

Edward kept his promise and watched like a champ, as Emmett knew he would. The man was nothing if not earnest.

"How'm'I doing here?" Emmett asked between licks. "Are you considering my offer?"

"I'm thinking." Edward somehow answered with a straight face, grunting when Emmett gently nipped at his shaft.

"Hmm, I guess I better pull out all the stops!"

Emmett kissed and tongued his way south, rolling Edward's balls around in his mouth and lapping the smooth skin leading to Edward's hole. After a quick peek at the intense pair of green eyes observing his every move, Emmett spread Edward's legs wide open and dove in. He lost himself devouring the man he held at his mercy, moaning every bit as loudly as Edward as tongue and fingers took turns filling his hole.

Even without Edward's touch, Emmett was horny as hell, not even realizing he'd been rutting against the bed until he was on the brink of his own orgasm. _Not yet! _He hopped onto his knees and placed his lips around Edward's tip.

"Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-five-three-five-nine—"

Emmett looked up at the crazy man staring at the ceiling and forcing out numbers as if giving birth to them. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Pi!" Edward panted, pinching his eyes shut. "I'm too close!"

"Oh, no you don't!" There was just no way Edward was taking control of this situation. Emmett had completely lost his shit last night, and he was going to make damn sure Edward did now. Emmett formed a tight "o" with his mouth and swallowed Edward down to the back of his throat. One hand fondled his balls while the other slipped inside and pressed the trigger that set off Edward's explosive release. If Emmett hadn't braced himself, he would've been thrown from the bed by Edward's wild, bucking hips.

"OHSWEETJESUS . . . SUCKME, BIGMAC!"

Emmett fought to keep a straight face while ribbons of hot cum streamed down his throat. Unless he wanted semen shooting out his nose, Emmett was going to have to hold his shit together and swallow this motherfucking load down. And then he could deal with . . . _ohmygod, Edward did not just say that!_

Emmett flopped down beside him, gently running his fingers over goose fleshed skin as the rise and fall of Edward's chest slowed to normal again. Avoiding Emmett's direct gaze, Edward spoke to the ceiling, where the digits of pi were still swirling in the air. "That's what happens when you don't give me anything to play with."

"That was pretty perfect." Emmett snuggled in closer and chuckled into Edward's ear. "I don't think anyone's ever called out my name before."

"Pshh." Edward turned to face him. "Maybe not that you know of, but I can guarantee your name is called out plenty."

"If you say so, Professor."

"There are some things I just know." Edward gave him a grin that reminded Emmett he was still hard.

"Would you mind very much if I gave you a kiss right now?" Emmett asked.

"Why would I mind?"

"Oh, maybe because I haven't brushed my teeth; my breath smells like bacon and coffee, and I just swallowed about a gallon of spunk."

It was Edward's turn to chuckle. "You sure know how to turn a guy's head."

"Yep. Right this way, guy." Emmett cupped Edward's cheek and kissed him hard, giving him a good, long taste of everything until Edward finally pulled away to catch his breath.

Gazing intently into Emmett's eyes, Edward nodded. "Yes," he said.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, hell yes. My answer is yes. I accept your top-secret, ultra-private offer effective immediately."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Emmett drives a *hard* bargain!

Many people have helped me shape this story, and I want to pause to thank them all. Pre-readers Shad, Lady V, Shell, and Jayme help me in both small and large ways to keep the sexy times sexy, the continuity flowing, and the baseball real. Everything is up for grabs with Chaya, plus she gets the last word on grammar and usage (unless we have a debate *wink*). And you readers who write to me with your questions, comments, insights, predictions, and fantasies...you often plant seeds that come to fruition somewhere down the line. Sometimes I wonder how different the story would've turned out if I'd written it in a total vacuum (an experiment I never hope to perform!). Thank you all, so much, for taking this long journey with me and my boys. There's plenty more to come, by the way, so this isn't goodbye!

Speaking of shaping, this weekend, I will be rereading Benched and picking out some of the pivot points in that story to retell here from Emmett's POV. If any of you would care to put your two cents in, I'm always listening. Feel free to PM me here or on FB or post in my patch. Let's see what we can create together! :)

**XXX ~BOH**


	30. Chapter 30

**XXX CHAPTER 30 XXX**

"Call Tammy Lutz."

"Calling Tammy Lutz . . ." his Spyder echoed.

"Well, hello there, my extremely hot ex."

"Hi." Now that he had her on the line, Emmett felt a little silly about calling, not that Tammy would let him off the hook.

"Change your mind? Scared straight? Ready to beg me to come back?"

"Hmm, none of the above." She already had him grinning. Oh wait, he hadn't stopped grinning since Edward opened the door last night.

"Eh, okay. Then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?"

"Thought I'd check on you and the photographer and see how things were going."

Tammy lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. "You're calling me at work to ask me about my love life?"

"Sorry, I got excited. Didn't really think it through." Emmett seemed to be master of the understatement lately. Or possibly, the underthinking of things.

Tammy laughed. _Right. _She didn't believe him for a second, but she was game to play along, bless her. "Hang on; I need to shut my door."

"Oh, this is gonna be good!" Emmett said, listening for the telltale click of the door before Tammy continued.

"We're doing very well, thank you. He took me to Jazz Alley Saturday night."

"Very romantic."

"Yes, it was very nice."

"Annnd?"

"And he _picked me up _on Sunday_"_—she paused to leave no room for misinterpretation—"and took me to Mt. Baker for the day."

"Clearly, you left out a few details, but we'll come back to that. Driving or hiking?"

"Both. He showed me his favorite spots to take photos. It was actually pretty thrilling to see a little part of the world through his eyes." Her voice had that dreamy lilt you get at the beginning of something new, when every day with the other person is an expedition to an exotic land.

Emmett knew the feeling well. "You sound quite smitten, Miss Lutz."

"I like him, Em. Probably too much."

"There's no 'too much' in love, Tammy." _Not when it's mutual_, he didn't have to add.

"We'll see."

This wistful mood he'd set off was no good. "So, has he taken any glamour shots of you?"

A guffaw quickly replaced the sigh. "Okay, that's just wrong."

"Hmm, I didn't take you for a prude."

"What? You'd pose for nude photos?"

"If my boyfriend had a thing for cameras? Sure!"

"Well shit, Em! You just painted some really pretty pictures I don't need in my head."

"You asked."

"I'd venture to say we're taking things a bit slower than you and your number one fan."

"Ha! Slower? It took me six weeks to work up to telling him I liked him."

"Maybe so, but I'm guessing you blasted right through the hand-holding phase."

"Yeah, we might've skipped that part," Emmett answered with a chuckle.

"Well that's too bad. I hope you loop back to it someday."

"Might be a while before we can skip down the sidewalk holding hands." The reality of Emmett's situation never quite faded out of consciousness even if everything was perfect behind closed doors.

"I sure hope you didn't bypass the kissing," she said.

"No way." For a brief moment, Emmett's thoughts drifted back to the soft Ultrasuede couch in Edward's den and the thrill of that first experimental taste. "Edward wouldn't have allowed that."

"Oh! Someone's fanatical about kissing?"

"He believes you can tell everything you need to know from the first kiss."

"Wow. Talk about romantic! _Sooooo_, how was it?"

"Mmm, let's just say I'm breaking the speed limit here trying to get back to him."

"Don't blame you. You haven't seen him in . . . what, seven days?"

"Um, actually . . . I just left his place after lunch."

"Wait, back up. When did you _arrive_ at Edward's house?"

"Sometime around three-thirty this morning."

"That's so classic!" Tammy laughed. "You woke the guy up in the middle of the night?"

"He didn't seem too angry."

"Emmett, is this guy even capable of getting angry with you?"

"Hmm, don't know about that. I've seen him get upset when he thought I was blowing him off, but I'm not sure anger is in his repertoire."

"That must be refreshing."

"I guess. I feel like I have to be careful not to be an asshole around him because he's so damn accepting of everything I say and do. I could see where he might be taken advantage of. It scares me."

"Emmett, you're not an asshole, and you don't take advantage of people. I wouldn't have been your fake girlfriend for so long if you weren't a great guy. Give yourself some credit."

If Emmett was unsure about why he'd called Tammy, he now had his answer. She had this way of looking at him and reflecting the best parts back, but she wasn't afraid to expose the ugly underbelly either. He hadn't realized he'd needed the reassurance until he'd already cast his fishing line, but if Tammy gave him a compliment, Emmett knew he'd earned it.

"Yeah, okay."

"So, why'd you pry yourself away? You're off today, right?"

"Sawyer and I had our date at the batting cage, but I'm heading back to Edward's now for dinner. Just wanted to call and check in."

"He's cooking for you?"

"Yep."

"Oh, you better hang onto this guy."

"That's my plan."

"Listen, you have a good time tonight. You deserve to be happy."

"You do too, Tammy. Tell that guy to take good care of you or I'll come after him with my Louisville Slugger."

"I suppose that's one way to up your batting average."

"Ouch."

"Just keeping it real, McCarty."

"Yes, I can always count on your for that, my friend."

XXX

This time, Emmett stood in the center of the stoop and rang the bell, no peeping necessary. Edward was home, filling his house with the magical scents of a home-cooked meal while anticipating Emmett's arrival. Still, Emmett's heart leapt into his throat as Edward opened the door and smiled at him. "Hey."

The urge to kiss him nearly overpowered his instinct for self-preservation, but Emmett managed to keep himself in check until the door closed behind him. _Let's try that smooth, romantic thing you blew earlier, shall we? _

"Hey," Emmett answered, clearing the frog out of his throat when he heard the croak. "I brought you something."

"What?" Laughter spilled out as Edward took the wrapped gift. "What did you do?"

Despite the cool linen shirt and shorts he was wearing, a hot blast warmed Emmett's face. He waved his hand over the package like a wizard casting some kind of spell. "It's nothing, just a . . . little . . . Just open it."

"You really didn't have to." Edward shook his head as his slender fingers slid beneath the tape and removed the paper with careful, systematic movements.

Emmett rubbed his hands together, the tough patches of skin on his pitching hand grating in a familiar way against the other. He'd never given much thought before to how those calluses might feel against bare skin and intimate places, but watching the math teacher's unblemished hands caused Emmett to file away a note to be mindful.

Finished with his methodical unwrapping, Edward dropped the paper to the ground in a single, reusable swath. "Oh my god, you did not get me juggling balls!"

"Actually, I got them for both of us. Thought it might be a fun activity, you know, if we ever have any down time." Aside from the trinkets and candy he regularly brought Soy, Emmett wasn't exactly an impulsive gift giver, but there was something about Edward that appealed to his generous nature. Emmett was blushing again, but the expression on Edward's face was so worth it.

"This is great!" Edward opened the plastic cylinder and popped the three brightly-colored balls into his hand. "Oh, cool. There are instructions."

Emmett swiped the paper away. "We don't need those. I've been watching YouTube."

"Have you been practicing?" he asked in an _Are-you-cheating-on-me_ tone.

"Nope. Just watching—I didn't have any balls."

Edward barked out a laugh, quickly holding up his hands in apology. "Hey, you said it, not me. I have to check on dinner, so I guess you get to go first." Edward stretched out his arm and dropped the balls into Emmett's hands. "With your ridiculous eye-hand coordination, you'll be an expert by the time dinner is ready."

Following Edward into the small galley kitchen, Emmett drew in a deep breath. _Onions sautéing on the stove_. "What's for dinner?" he asked, peering over Edward's shoulder.

"Spaghetti with meat sauce. Specialty of the house."

Emmett wrapped his arms around Edward's belly and hummed in his ear. "I wasn't aware Cullen was an Italian name."

"It's Gaelic, but I like pasta, and you could use a little carbo load tonight."

"Oh, is that right?" Chuckling softly, Emmett rocked them side to side.

"Yes, now don't distract the chef or we'll end up eating the sad, charred remains of what could've been."

Emmett pulled the soft lobe of Edward's ear between his teeth. "Might be worth it."

Edward spun in Emmett's arms, threatening him with the wooden spoon. "Step away from the marinara, Mac."

"Okay, okay." He pulled his hands off Edward and backed away. "You want me to toss the salad?"

"Again?" Edward gave him a playful lift of his eyebrows. "Maybe we should wait till after dinner."

A smirk tugged at the corners of Emmett's mouth. "When did you get to be such a dirty boy?"

Folding his arms, Edward grinned at him. "Right around the time you started stalling, McCarty. C'mon, let's see those ball skills."

"I believe I demonstrated those earlier." Emmett's gaze shifted to Edward's knee-length shorts, coming to rest at the bottom of his zipper.

Placing a firm hand on Emmett's chest, Edward give him a no-nonsense shove. "Go. Practice."

"Fiiiine," he answered as he sauntered out of the kitchen.

Fortunately, Edward's house was light on knickknacks, so it wasn't too hard to find a wide open space. Holding two balls in his right hand as he'd studied, Emmett tossed up the first and caught it in the heel of his hand just after releasing the second with his fingertips. The small, squishy balls fit easily into his expert hand, and Emmett barely had to look to get the two balls going. _Piece of cake._

Ball number three proved to be a bit more challenging. As with any activity involving two hands, Emmett had to adjust for the novice left hand, but he eventually worked into a rhythm, even getting his hips into it as he grew comfortable.

"Wow, look at you go. I think you're ready for the sharp knives and flaming swords."

Emmett's laughter brought the whole operation tumbling down. "The only flaming sword I'm swallowing tonight is in your shorts, baby."

"Good god, that is awful. You're lucky I'm already hooked. Would you care for a glass of chianti while the pasta boils?"

"I'd love one. But before you get too blitzed, I want you to try this." Emmett gathered the balls from the floor and put two in Edward's right hand. "Okay, you're gonna toss one up about two feet, and then just before you catch it, toss the second one to the exact same spot. That's the whole key, not to get too wild with your tosses."

"Okay, but before I do this, you need to know that I am hopelessly uncoordinated. Remember that stint with the bassoon? The left hand couldn't figure out what the right hand was doing, and don't even get me started on the mouth."

"Yeah, don't get me started on your mouth either." Emmett smirked; Edward rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, there is a reason I chose running over ball sports."

"Duly noted. We're not calling in Barnum and Bailey just yet. No worries."

"Okay, stand back," Edward said, screwing up his face as he gathered courage to make a fool of himself. The first toss wasn't bad, but the second ball went flying toward Emmett's chest.

He caught it and tossed it back to Edward. "Try again. Just focus on the toss. Don't even worry about catching the first one. It's automatic."

"Pfft, maybe for you!"

Emmett grasped Edward's wrist. "You have to trust it."

"I'll give it a shot."

Stepping out of the way, Emmett tucked his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to help. Edward counted out a one-two-three and tossed the first ball into the air. He released the second one too soon, throwing it right into the path of the first and knocking them both off course. Emmett chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing while Edward chased down the balls.

"Well, that was entertaining," Edward said, turning away, "but I think I smell the sauce burning, and I definitely need a glass of wine."

"Hey, you. Not so fast." Emmett grabbed Edward by the waist and tugged him in until their lips were touching. Edward's surprise melted into a soft moan on its way to some serious tonguing when Emmett pulled back. "Thank you."

"For what?" Edward asked.

"Thank you for trying something new for me. Now you know how I feel playing chess with you, Professor."

Edward smiled, his embarrassment replaced by a knowing nod. "It _is_ pretty hot when you make yourself vulnerable like that."

"Mmhmm," Emmett agreed, kissing him again. "Seriously hot."

"Huh, so if I practice and get better, would I be less hot?"

Emmett chuckled. "The hotness factor of you juggling would more than likely cancel out the reverse hotness effect of your decreasing vulnerability."

"Oh my god!"

"What?"

"You're starting to sound like me!"

XXX

The Chianti bottle was empty, and their bellies were pleasantly full. Emmett begged off the brownie fudge sundae but promised he'd be up for it later—if Edward helped him burn off the carbs, an offer Edward was quick to accept.

"Normally, I wouldn't leave all these dishes in the sink, but . . ." Edward gave him one of his need-you-so-bad looks, and Emmett was stiffer than the last piece of garlic bread.

"Screw the dishes. We'll do 'em in the morning."

Edward's face lit up as he jumped out of his chair. "You're staying?"

"Did you not see my toothbrush in your stand?"

"That makes me ridiculously happy."

"Me too." Emmett stood and rubbed his belly. "I brought my running clothes. Do you have a trail around here?"

"Sure. We can head down to the river or hit the park down the road."

"You're the tour guide."

"Well then, allow me to guide you to my bed." Edward brushed past him, casually sliding his hand into Emmett's palm.

Emmett looked down at their joined hands, completely unable to stop the goofy grin from spreading across his face. "You're holding my hand."

"Oh, sorry. Is this weird?"

"Yes." Edward tried to pull his hand away, but Emmett tightened his grip. "It's a good weird."

"You're a little loopy, aren't you?"

"Yep. I don't drink much, remember?" _And I haven't held hands since my mother walked me to the bus stop in second grade._

"Hmm, does this mean I finally get to have my way with you?"

Emmett laughed. "You haven't had your way yet? I can't wait to see this!"

Edward stopped walking, tugging Emmett back when he didn't notice. "You know, we should probably have a conversation before we . . ." He trailed off, nodding toward the bedroom.

"Sure. What would you like to talk about? My ERA? Secret family recipes? Co-mingling our dirty socks in your laundry?" Emmett took in Edward's serious expression and sobered right up. "What?"

Edward's gaze dropped to the floor as he twisted in the noose he'd slung around his own neck. "I assume we're about to . . ."

Grinning, Emmett answered, "I was certainly hoping so." Emmett had been so well-behaved tonight, but Edward was seriously testing his restraint.

"All that stuff you said about wanting to throw me down . . .?"

"All true." Emmett drew closer and locked eyes with Edward. The poor guy was holding his breath, and Emmett held the words to put him out of his misery. "I'm a pitcher, Edward, through and through. Will you catch for me tonight?"

A relieved smile crossed Edward's face, and his green eyes danced with joy. "Yes. Any night. Every night. Whenever!"

Chuckling softly, Emmett gave him a gentle kiss. "Glad we got that settled."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Shortest conversation ever! Was there ever a doubt?

Thank you for the WONDERFUL questions, insights, ideas and *hints* you guys are throwing my way. I have a robust file of notes to consult. Always room for more! MWAH!

**XXX ~BOH**


	31. Chapter 31

**XXX CHAPTER 31 XXX**

"How did you keep your legs under you? I can barely walk!"

Emmett slapped his belly and laughed. "It was all those carbs. You loaded me up but good."

The key jangled in the door knob, and Edward turned back to give Emmett a shy grin. "I think you loaded me up better."

"Don't make me attack you on your front stoop."

"Attack me? We just ran five miles!"

"Yes, and I can guarantee you I wasn't thinking about chess moves for any of those miles." The knob turned, and Emmett's arms closed around Edward's waist the second the door clicked shut behind them. "You. Shower. Now!"

Edward's feet barely touched the floor as Emmett dragged him to the bathroom. _Poor Edward._ Emmett had tried to go easy on the guy last night, but once he'd unplugged the dike, the floods were relentless—and so was Emmett. That tight little ass of Edward's was going to be the death of them both.

Emmett couldn't be sure whether Edward's "Oh God" groan was one of his _I'm-about-to-[fill-in-the-blank]-with-Emmett-McCarty _moments—the blank in question being "take a shower"—or something more primal: _Again_?

_Oh yes, Edward. Either way, the answer is hell, yes. _While Emmett strongly suspected Edward was more than up for it—_yep, _a quick check confirmed it—he had an idea about how to get Edward's head fully in this game.

Standing on the fluffy shower mat together, Emmett grabbed the bottom of Edward's tank top, teasing the soaked fabric slowly up his slick chest.

"It's the bottom of the fifteenth on a sweltering, sticky Seattle night. Game is tied at seven apiece, two outs, no men on base."

Edward turned surprised eyes on Emmett. _Baseball? Really?_

"The guys are spent. The bench is so ripe, you can smell us from your seat."

Edward's eyes glazed over, and he stood stock still except for the telltale swish of his tongue across his lower lip. "Mmm."

_Ah, there's my boy. _

Emmett grasped Edward by the back of the head—a mess of warm, sweaty clumps saturating Emmett's fingers—and pulled him to his armpit. Edward buried his nose, sucked in a breath, and whimpered.

"Suarez is up. The guy's done bupkis all night. He stares down two strikes; the tension from the dugout is bearing down on him like a thousand blazing suns. _Not another goddamn inning in this fucking heat. At least take a swing at it!_"

Emmett peeled off his shirt, looped it behind Edward's neck, and locked him in place against his chest. Off balance and woozy, Edward clutched Emmett's hips to brace himself. As Emmett continued to spin his story, he pulled his fingers through Edward's hair as a child might stroke a cherished stuffed animal held to his heart.

"Suarez swings; there's a loud crack; the bench clears—we're up on our feet . . . watching, praying . . . Suarez runs toward first; the ball sails out of the park! The team is delirious, spilling out of the dugout and stampeding toward the plate, jumping around like we'd just won the fucking World Series."

The soft tip of Edward's nose burrowed deeper. Lulled by the hypnotic head patting, Edward swayed ever so slightly on his feet. His hands curled around Emmett's back and embraced him slow-dance style.

"We pile into the locker room like a human caterpillar—one torso with fifty legs. Cleats go flying. Shirts and pants are stripped off at the door and tossed into a giant heap." Emmett's lips moved to Edward's ear; his tone grew more intimate, more demanding. "Take off your shorts."

Emmett released him from his tight grip, and Edward pulled away and reached for his shorts. His gaze dropped to the floor; his lungs labored; his cheeks flushed as he kicked out of his shorts. Edward's erection was a lead pipe lying on its side, and Emmett gave it a good, hard stare before stripping down to his jock.

Edward lifted his eyes and locked onto the tiny sliver of red between Emmett's legs. "Dear lord," Edward whispered under his breath.

_Yeah, you look pretty hot too, my friend._

"There I am, bare-ass in my jock, shoved into the middle of this moving pig pile. Hot, hard, grimy bodies crushed in all around me, inching toward the showers . . ."

Emmett spun Edward to face the shower stall and pressed his groin against Edward's ass. "It's an agony of naked flesh and careless hands"—his palms skimmed down Edward's belly, drawing a low moan from Edward as he casually brushed over his erection—"and my cock is so . . . fucking . . . _haaaaard,_ it aches. Can you imagine how that feels?"

Edward answered with a soft hum.

Nipping Edward's ear lobe between his teeth, Emmett whispered, "It gets worse."

While Edward was still reeling from the teasing, Emmett smacked him on the ass. Edward grunted and dropped forward, flattening his hands against the shower door and offering up his perfect ass for more. _Yes, I have so much more for you. _With a cupped hand, Emmett slapped again. Edward released a sexy "Unh!" and wriggled against Emmett's palm.

"The shower is turned on, and all the guys strip off their jocks . . ."

Without further prompting, Edward grabbed his underwear and slid them to the floor. _Oh, Teach, aren't you a quick learner? _Emmett rewarded him by slapping his bare flesh, which Edward answered with the perfect cheek jiggle and a soft grunt.

"Imagine—dicks everywhere you look, everyone punch-drunk and handsy . . ." _Smack! Groan._ "How the hell can I take off my jock with this flagpole hiding in my pouch?"

Craning his neck, Edward gave Emmett's package a hungry leer. "For the record, it's not exactly hiding."

Emmett looped his thumbs under the elastic straps holding up his very brief briefs. "Don't you want to watch?"

Edward spun around, his eyes laser focused on Emmett's crotch. "Yes."

Emmett smirked at him. Pivoting so his back was to Edward, he inched the straps down over his gyrating ass, stepped out of the jock, and winged it over his shoulder at Edward's face.

"You're not getting this back," Edward said, wadding the fabric between his hands.

Emmett's eyebrows popped up as a wide grin stretched his cheeks. "You dirty boy." With his arms at his sides, Emmett turned to face Edward.

Edward swallowed hard. "_Helllllo_, _flagpole . . ._ What happens next?" The professor was relentless when he set his mind to something, and his head was clearly all the way inside the locker room.

"Next . . ." Emmett advanced on Edward and shuffled him into the shower stall. He twisted the faucet, and a stream of chilly water pelted them both.

"Ahh! _Shit_!"

Emmett burst out laughing. "Sorry. Fix it! Fix it!"

Edward fiddled with the handles until the water warmed up. "You were saying?"

_Back to the fantasy . . . _

"So, the first guy to notice bumps elbows with the guy next to him, and they point and snort, and pretty soon, they've got me surrounded. One loudmouth grabs his dick and says, 'Hey, Mac, how's about I throw you a slider?' Everyone laughs, but he's watching me and stroking himself, and I notice his cock is getting hard in his hand—just like yours."

Sure enough, Edward had played his role perfectly. He stared, spellbound, stroking himself and waiting for Emmett to narrate.

"I step toward him, under the stream, and I ask, 'You _mean_ that?' There's dead quiet, just the water echoing off the tiles. He looks around at his buddies. Most of them are tweaking the twinkie; nobody's laughing anymore. 'Sure,' he says. 'Nobody gives head like a cock jockey, right?'"

Edward shook his head and chuckled. "Cock jockey? Seriously?"

Ignoring him, Emmett continued. "The circle closes around me, and the guys start chanting my name: 'Mac! Mac! Mac!' and I sink to the floor"—Emmett dropped to his knees—"and swallow down this monster cock."

Edward dropped back against the wall as Emmett closed his mouth over the tip and tongued his way down. With his right hand gripping the base of Edward's shaft and the other firmly wrapped around his own, it didn't take long for Emmett to work them both into a frenzy. Edward's hips pumped erratically while Emmett's right hand glided up and down the shaft . . . _crap!_

Remembering his earlier concern, Emmett quickly swapped his smooth left hand onto Edward and took the rougher pitching hand to his own cock for the first time. The new sensation was definitely less pleasant, but there was no stopping this freight train now. Emmett worked his mouth over that cock as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Edward's grinding intensified, and his hand closed around the back of Emmett's head. Those skinny hips of his pounded away at Emmett's face; Emmett's grip tightened.

"Nnngh, coming!" Edward tensed and stilled. Emmett pulled his mouth away, finishing him off instead with a tight fist. Edward burst like a fountain, spurting cum into the descending spray.

"Fuck me! That is so sexy!" Emmett sat his ass down on the shower floor while his fisted hand tugged relentlessly along his shaft.

Sinking to the floor behind him, Edward straddled Emmett's body and reached around with both hands. "Let me do that for you, Mac."

Emmett dropped his hands away, leaning back into the support of Edward's chest.

"They want to see you get off. The whole team is watching."

Emmett groaned as Edward gripped him tighter, pumped faster. His ass was riding the water pockets on the floor like a water skier skimming across a lake.

"C'mon, Mac. Give the boys a good show."

"Aww, _fuck!_" Emmett's hips bucked violently until the pressure released in an explosive rush.

Edward milked him with both hands until there was nothing left, then wrapped his arms around Emmett's belly and gave him a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Still panting hard, Emmett turned toward Edward's face and smiled. He lifted a weary arm around Edward's head and drew him in for a long, slow kiss. "I think we both just got dirtier," he said.

Edward chuckled. "There's soap up there somewhere, but I'm too tired to move."

"I'll get it," Emmett said, pulling Edward in for another kiss. "As soon as I can feel my legs again."

They kissed and laughed until the water turned cold, quickly cleaned off, and reluctantly left the sanctuary of their private, shared fantasy.

XXX

Emmett watched in amused awe as Edward pulled out one deli bag after the next: turkey, roast beef, corned beef, Muenster, and Swiss. Two loaves of bread waited on the counter with a bottle of Russian dressing and a container of coleslaw, sliced tomatoes, pickles, hot peppers, sweet peppers, and two kinds of mustard. "What have you done?"

"I wasn't sure what you liked."

"You could've asked. We only spent about thirty hours talking and texting while I was gone."

Edward shrugged. "There were more important things to talk about."

"More important than food?" Emmett grabbed a pickle spear off the platter and popped the end into his mouth.

"Potato chips or pretzels?"

"Let's go all out with chips."

"Okay . . ." Edward set the chips onto the counter. "What am I forgetting?"

"To relax?" Emmett chuckled. "C'mon, hand me a plate. I'm starved."

Edward took out two plates and passed one to Emmett, who slapped condiments and fillings between two slices of whole wheat bread and poured a generous heap of Ruffles next to his sandwich.

Sampling a potato chip, Emmett looked up and noticed that Edward hadn't moved. "Aren't you eating?"

"I am. I just wanted to see what you liked . . . for next time."

"Damn, Professor. You are too sweet to me. I'll eat anything. I'm really not picky."

"I want to keep you happy," Edward said.

Holding Edward's gaze across the counter, Emmett said, "I'm extremely happy. How about you?"

"Me?" The cold cuts suddenly required all of Edward's attention. As he reached for the corned beef, a blush colored his cheeks.

Emmett waited as patiently as he was able while Edward painted the empty slice of bread with meticulous strokes of mustard until every last grain was covered. Emmett had been fairly confident of Edward's satisfaction up to this point, but the man's silence had a way of unnerving Emmett like nothing else. "Do I need to refer you to the complaints department?" His quip was meant to be lighthearted, but even Emmett could hear the tremor in his voice.

Edward glanced up at Emmett, a puzzled expression on his face. "You seriously need to ask me that? I'm living the dream—literally. Better than the dream because your imagination is obviously _way_ better than mine." His blush deepened. "Speaking of dreams . . ." Edward started, then shook off the rest of his thought. "Never mind."

_He does this on purpose just to torture me. _"You just committed a serious conversational balk there, Professor."

Ignoring Emmett, Edward sliced his sandwich down the middle, split apart the two perfect halves, and sprinkled a handful of chips in between.

Emmett stared him down, not letting up until Edward looked up again.

"Let's go sit outside. Here, have a water." Edward led him to the patio out back, a small paved area with a black metal table for two. "It's very quiet back here," he assured Emmett. "Nobody will see us."

Settling into the chair, Emmett leaned into Edward's ear. "I'll try not to maul you . . . just in case." He added a little wink before grabbing his sandwich and taking a suggestive bite.

Edward rolled his eyes. "God, you're a horrible tease."

"Really? Hmph! I thought I was pretty good at it."

"Yes. You're an all-star. Is that better?" Edward grinned around the half-sandwich he raised to his mouth.

"Hey, look who's talking about teasing. What did you want to say back there? It's driving me nuts."

As Emmett looked on with great amusement, Edward's pride lost yet another battle against his desire to please Emmett. "Fine. I was wondering . . . shit, here goes_ . . . _that locker room story . . . Obviously, it's not real, but do you ever . . . ?"

_Aww, poor Edward. _Emmett smiled. "I don't want to ruin the fantasy for you."

"Don't worry; you won't," Edward answered with a sly smirk.

Emmett reached under the table and placed his hand on Edward's knee. "My teammates are like brothers to me. I can appreciate their talent and their many physical gifts, but I can assure you, I am not attracted to any of them."

"So the gang bang shower scene doesn't do it for you?"

He tried not to laugh, but Edward playing it oh-so-cool was just too much. "Edward, I was turned on because _you_ were turned on. Do I enjoy watching a good, hard gang bang in my porn now and then? Sure! Who doesn't?"

The blush that rose on Edward's face told Emmett that his lover was not the exception to the rule. It also told Emmett more teasing was in order. "It's always the quiet ones," he said.

Edward responded in his usual way, with a weary head shake and averted eyes.

Emmett jiggled his hand on Edward's knee. "Hey, this gang bang thing isn't a deal-breaker for you, is it? I mean, I've never done one, but if that's your thing . . ." _Yeah, right. That would actually require someone else knowing about you._

"No, Emmett," he said, wiping away any trace of doubt with the hard line of his mouth. "I'm a one-man guy. I could never watch while anyone else laid a hand on you."

Emmett's heart took a flip inside his chest. He squelched the urge to kiss Edward's scowl back into a smile. You could never be too sure which bushes were hiding the paps. "Likewise, I'm sure."

Edward's shoulders unhunched, and he made another pass at his sandwich. Emmett wasn't sure why Edward's deep confessions always brought on the desire to spill his own secrets, but before he knew what was happening, he was sharing.

"I should probably apologize in advance for all the different ways I'm gonna fuck this up."

"What do you mean?"

"Here's the thing." Emmett drew back his hand from Edward's knee. "I've never been in a relationship. Sex was sex, but it had nothing to do with whether I liked someone or really even took the time to know them. You're the first experience where the two have come together in my head. You make me crazy horny with your whole Spock vibe and don't even get me started on your ass."

With a shy smile, Edward answered. "Okay?"

"I'm sure I'm doing this all wrong because I'm making it up as we go along. You're so much better at all this than I am." Emmett turned his right hand over and brushed the rough blistered skin. "I mean, I only just realized my hand must feel like a cheese grater against your skin."

Edward's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Is that why you switched hands in the shower?"

"Yeah, I told you; I'm an idiot."

"Yep, you are." Edward reached for Emmett's hand, dropping it into his palm and stroking the calluses with a tenderness that nearly brought tears to Emmett's eyes. "This hand leads the league in strikeouts. This hand pitched a perfect game right before my eyes. This hand is going to lead its team to victory in the World Series, and this hand is going to win the Cy Young Award. Do you have any idea what a turn-on it is when this hand touches me?"

With a heavy heart, Emmett closed his left hand over the pile. "Edward, that superstar pitcher you're talking about lives on the mound. Between games, I'm just a plain, regular guy with lumpy scars on his hand."

"I don't see how you can separate one from the other."

"I have to, because I'm afraid you're not seeing the real me here. And one day, when you're expecting Big Mac, the superstar, to be all heroic and perfect, Emmett, the very ordinary man, is going to disappoint you."

"You're wrong. You are Mac, and Mac is you. As good as you are, you're not infallible as a pitcher, and who takes control when things start going haywire on the mound?"

"You?"

"No! You! Emmett McCarty, the 'plain, regular guy' with his strict work ethic and vulnerability and determination and insecurities. And who do you think I'm playing chess with when I sit down with ordinary Emmett?"

"I give up," Emmett said with an exhausted sigh.

Edward smiled at him. "Try Big Mac, the tenacious son of a bitch whose curiosity and thirst for perfection makes you exponentially better every game. And by the way, did you notice the cocky, dirty-talker in the shower with us this morning?"

Emmett grinned. The professor did have a way of seeing Emmett that knocked his feet out from under him. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. "I guess I see your point. Can I have my hands back now?"

Edward chuckled. "Sure." They both went back to their sandwiches in silence until Edward broke it a few bites later. "You know, you're not the only one with more than one side."

"Do tell."

Taking the last bite of his sandwich, Edward chewed and swallowed thoughtfully. "Maybe it's the Spock thing—half this, half that—but I vacillate between giddy fanboy and scholarly mathematician when I'm with you."

"Hey, don't forget chef, coach, and sex slave!"

Edward's laughter floated across the table. "How could I?"

"I think I get it now," Emmett said.

The teacher smiled at his student, pleased to have successfully conveyed his point. "Good."

"What you're saying is, we had our gang bang shower scene today with all our multiple personalities."

Edward threw a potato chip at Emmett's mouth. "Here I was worried you weren't paying attention."

"I'm always paying attention. For example, right now, it's time for me to get my ass to practice. We better go inside so I can say a proper goodbye."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hmm, _now_ who's wondering if this is too good to be true? Was Edward convincing?

First, here's a big thank you to everyone who contributed a question or idea for the Benched retelling. I've kept track of them all, and you can be sure your comments were all heard.

Regarding who's pitching and who's catching... To me, Emmett is the most natural top I've written since Marcus, and Edward reads bottom all the way. I simply haven't "heard" or "seen" Edward "topping" Emmett [in the strictest definition of the expression]. Does that mean Edward is going to lie there like a log and be passive or submissive? Hell to the no! The Professor's got some moves and he's going to bottom Emmett so hard at times, he won't know what hit him! All that said, I have NO doubt that Emmett and Edward would do anything to please the other. They've both shown enormous flexibility in every realm, and this honeymoon phase they're in will likely involve all kinds of experimentation. For that first time, it was important to Edward that he understand what would be expected of him, and Emmett answered his question exactly the way he'd hoped (and frankly, expected). I write what I hear and see, and so far, the boys are pretty happy with this arrangement. :)

I hope I didn't disappoint you too terribly by leaving the boys to their privacy for their first time ... Hey, I love sex as much as the next guy, trust me! (You do know this, right?) But it has to be really interesting and move the story forward, and to me, this was not the moment to highlight the details. I don't know about you guys, but I skim the gratuitous scenes. I don't want any skimmers here! I'd much rather watch them make sandwiches. That's just how I roll (see what I did there?)!

Thank you all for the insightful comments. You really do keep me on my toes!

**XXX ~BOH**


	32. Chapter 32

**XXX CHAPTER 32 XXX**

What surprised Emmett most about pitching the no-hitter was that he was not the least bit surprised. From the moment he took the mound, Emmett was in the zone—relaxed, confident, loose, and in control. Seaver and Rich had the good graces to score two runs in the fourth, so when Emmett threw the last strike in the ninth inning, the game ended with a resounding "Big Mac! Big Mac!" ovation from the crowd and an enthusiastic stampede of his teammates rushing the mound and hoisting Emmett onto their shoulders. Two of the happy fools heaved the contents of a giant cooler into the air, dousing Emmett from the waist down in half-melted ice cubes and frigid water.

The adrenaline burst was a joyous orgasm after a three-hour buildup of rising tension. Emmett rode the exhilarating high as his teammates carted him around the field, giving the fans in each section their own personal viewing of the hero in their midst. The crowd was a blur of waving pennants and giant foam fingers and white-and-teal jerseys, but Emmett had no trouble whatsoever picking out Edward. Waving his cap as if flagging down a rescue helicopter from a deserted island, Edward had a smile so bright, it rivaled the stadium lights.

Emmett grabbed his hat and swirled it madly over his head, hoping Edward would understand the message was for him and him alone. _I'm so glad you're here to be a part of this._

By the time the boys delivered Emmett to home plate, a line of reporters had assembled, microphones wielded like gladiators' swords. "When did you know you'd clenched it? Does this make up for being cheated out of the perfect game? How does it feel to join the greats? Were you nervous you'd mess it up?" Emmett answered each question with patience and humor, playing to the adoring crowd and the bank of cameras lined up in front of him.

"What were you and Seaver talking about in the seventh?"

Emmett chuckled, recalling the catcher's visit to the mound after he'd walked Dozier. Rubbing two fingers across his chin, Emmett answered. "I'm sorry. That's privileged information."

"I'm sure you want to go and celebrate with your teammates; let me ask you one final question. Who's your first phone call going to be?"

Anyone tuned into the interview at that moment would have caught the double-dimpled trademark McCarty smile but might not have noticed the hesitation in his voice while he worked out his lie. "My folks, of course. And I think I better be making that one soon."

"Thanks for talking with us, Mac. We'll catch you a little later in the press room. Congratulations again on your big night."

Emmett jogged into the locker room, where his teammates were lined up on both sides of the entrance with champagne bottles in hand. Corks popped; frothy liquid went flying; everyone cheered and slapped him on the back and danced around and made fools of themselves. It was glorious. Coach McClendon stood at the end of the human tunnel with a filled champagne flute in each hand, stretching one out toward Emmett. Lifting his glass, Coach toasted him. "Welcome to history, Big Mac!"

"Cheers!" The guys surrounded him, clinking against Emmett's glass with their full bottles, chugging and pouring the bubbly on each other's heads until they'd emptied every last bottle.

As soon as he was able, Emmett snuck to his locker and grabbed his phone. The texts were flying in faster than he could scroll through them, well wishes from his family and friends. Anyone and everyone who had his cell number had messaged him, but he couldn't focus long enough to locate the one message he really cared about seeing.

_Fuck it! _He needed to hear Edward's voice. Privacy was a luxury Emmett would not have until after his rubdown, the press conference, and wading through whatever fans were hanging out for autographs at the players' entrance. That was too damn far away.

Leaning inside the three makeshift walls of his locker, Emmett dialed Edward and pressed the phone tight against his ear.

"HEY! Oh my GOD, Emmett! You did it! Damn, I'm so happy for you! I'm jumping out of my skin! What's happening there? How are you feeling? Sorry, your turn now. I'm just so excited for you!"

A rush of warmth flooded Emmett's system. None of this had felt real until he heard Edward reflect it all back to him. In typical Emmett style, he responded to the overwhelming emotions with a quip. "You're not operating a motor vehicle right now, are you?"

"I'm not." Edward sighed. "I hope you won't be upset with me, but I'm standing outside with the rest of the crowd waiting pathetically to get a glimpse of you as you come out of the stadium. Once a groupie, always a groupie."

"Damn, that's sweet. It's gonna be a while, you know."

"Pfft, like I care. This is a huge deal. Where else would I be?"

Emmett lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. "You know I can't really . . . acknowledge you in the crowd . . . not the way I want to, anyway."

"Of course I do. I wasn't expecting anything. I just wanted to be there to share the moment with you."

Tears stung the back of Emmett's eyes. He couldn't find two words to put together to express his gratitude.

"Unless . . ." Edward's voice cut into Emmett's thoughts. "Would you prefer I not be there?"

"No! Of course not. I just feel bad I can't . . . you know."

"Maul me?"

Emmett mirrored the resigned grin he could so clearly picture on Edward's face. "Yeah."

"There's always later . . . if you're up for it." He'd tacked on the last bit with a deference that raised Emmett's hackles.

"I'll totally be up for it. I'm wired!" Then, because that all missed the real point, Emmett added, "I need to see you tonight."

"Oh, thank God!" Edward released a loud sigh. "Oops, I didn't mean to say that out loud."

Emmett smiled hard against the surface of his phone. He cleared the lump of feelings out of the way before responding, leaving his voice shaky and raw. "I feel the same way."

When Edward spoke again, his smile could have been the bright yellow suns of Emmett's finger-painted memories. "I'll see you at home, then?"

_Rubdown, shower, press conference, long drive to Renton . . ._

"I don't think I can wait that long. Can you come to the beach?"

"Of course. Whatever works for you. Where do you want me to meet you?"

"Our bench?" Emmett's face heated at the initials-carved-in-the-tree declaration he'd just let slip, but oh well.

"I'll be there," Edward answered. "I can't wait to . . . hug you chastely, I guess."

Emmett chuckled. "We're meeting there; we're not _staying_ there."

Edward shot back a cautious "You sure?"

_Was he? _Emmett blew out a tight breath. "I'm sure I need to be with you tonight."

"Aren't you worried to be seen heading up to your place together at that hour?"

"I have friends over all the time. We just have to behave while the security cameras are watching us."

"Hmm. You don't have any cameras inside your unit, do you?" Edward's sexy hum sent Emmett's thoughts to his bedroom.

"Nope."

"Okay, then I can manage. Elevators don't exactly turn me on anyway."

"I'd love to change your mind about that someday," Emmett said, his thoughts returning to the locker room bustle when someone snapped a towel against his leg. "I gotta run. I'm not sure how long I'll be, gotta do the dancing monkey routine for a bit here."

"Soak it up, Mac. Enjoy the spotlight. I'm so damn proud of you."

"Thanks, man. You know I'll be there as soon as I can."

XXX

Emmett wasn't quite prepared for the Norman Rockwell painting waiting for him at Alki Beach. The moon was no thicker than a whitish-yellow eyelash set against the pitch black sky, and even with its reflection on the gently rolling water, the light barely illuminated the sand dragging down Emmett's eager steps. Emmett approached the figure from behind, giving himself a chance to fully appreciate the mayhem of the professor's hair, the square set of the shoulders holding up his obnoxiously autographed jersey, and the elegant drape of Edward's arm along the top rail of the bench.

Pausing for a moment, Emmett drew a deep breath, pulling the serenity of the scene fully into his body. With the mad whirl of the no-hitter adrenaline pumping through his veins, Emmett wanted nothing more than to join the scene before him, to scoot under that arm and feel it close around him. But then, this was the real world, wasn't it?

The waves hit the shore with a determined crash that must've drowned out Emmett's steps as he rounded the bench; otherwise, Edward would've turned his head. It was only when Emmett stood directly in front of Edward that he realized his devoted friend had fallen fast asleep waiting for him.

Emmett entered the canvas, sitting down gingerly beside Edward and relaxing against the back of the bench. He took the opportunity to watch Edward sleep for a few minutes—and would've watched him longer if he hadn't felt so creepy-stalkerish about it—before turning his face to the hypnotic waves and resting his eyes.

Moments later, the arm behind him shifted, startling Emmett.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Edward said.

"I wasn't sleeping. _You _were sleeping."

Edward grinned at him and leaned closer though they appeared to be very much alone. "Apparently, we were sleeping together."

Chuckling, Emmett recalled the serene smile on Edward's sleeping face. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."

"Same here . . . but I woke up and realized it might not be cool if someone found us like this." Edward's hands were locked together in his lap, as if they couldn't be trusted to keep to themselves.

Emmett's wistful sigh was swallowed by the waves. "Thank you."

Edward angled his body to face Emmett, lifting his knee onto the bench and giving Emmett's pitching arm a platonic pat. "So? How does it feel, Mr. MacNo-hitter?"

"Not too shabby, I gotta say."

"Tell me everything." Edward's smile was a mile wide.

"You saw the press conference, I presume?"

"What do _you_ think?" he answered with a roll of his eyes.

"The whole night's a bit of a blur after that last pitch. I probably made a fool of myself. I was barely coherent."

"Are you kidding? You were pitch perfect! Just the right mix of humility and confidence. I don't know how you do that, but I've decided that's the secret to your charm."

Emmett couldn't help but smile back. "Oh, you have, now?"

Ignoring him, Edward spilled more excitement onto the bench between them. "Did you hear Sims called you 'Seattle Stud'?"

"Wonderful! The guys'll have a bale of hay waiting for me at practice tomorrow."

Edward grinned at him. "Wouldn't put it past 'em."

Sitting on that quiet bench, alone with this man who had done so much more than cheer Emmett on from the sidelines, this kind, intelligent man who had become both trusted friend and lover, Emmett was overcome with emotion. "You know, Edward, for the record—and don't you _ever_ tell my mother—the first call I made tonight . . . was to you."

Edward turned his head toward the ocean and pulled his upper lip between his teeth. He didn't speak for so long, Emmett wondered if maybe he'd fallen asleep again. When he finally acknowledged the comment, Edward responded to the waves. "You have no idea how much that means to me," he said.

After scouring the area for nosy witnesses, Emmett leaned closer and answered him. "And you have no idea how much you mean to me."

Edward turned to face him with watery eyes. The sticky beach air between them pulsed with their restraint. Edward didn't look like he was going to speak this time, so Emmett took a deep breath and continued.

"Can I tell you something I couldn't say to the reporters?"

"'Course," Edward answered without hesitation.

"I think other people might hear this as cockiness, but I know you won't. I gotta tell you, tonight was the most effortless game I have ever pitched." Emmett cast his gaze toward the water, floating back to the sensory memories of the game. "I felt like I knew exactly what to do, and every pitch flew off my fingertips just how I saw it in my mind's eye. Seaver and I were perfectly in sync." He turned back to face Edward. "They asked me when I knew . . . It was early, _really_ early in the game. I've never felt that way before—not even the night of my almost perfect game."

"_Perfect_ game," Edward interjected.

They both chuckled. "Okay, whatever."

"So," Edward said, "I guess this means you're not fucked up over me anymore."

"Dude, I am way beyond fucked up over you, but it's different now that I know I have you."

"Well, good . . . I guess."

Physical and emotional exhaustion caught up to him at the same time. Emmett stood and stretched his arms over his head. "God, I'm sore. How long did you let me sleep?"

"You're blaming me for being sore after you threw 113 pitches? I think you need to have a word with Trey . . . or I can."

"Ha! You wish! You planning to stay here and watch the sunrise, or would you like to come upstairs and help me mark the occasion?"

Edward jumped to his feet. "Lead the way."

They walked together down the block toward Emmett's building, neither purposely touching nor taking great pains to avoid bumping shoulders. It reminded Emmett of their early days of running together, minus the awkward longing he now acknowledged both of them had been feeling. This was better, Emmett decided. The want was most definitely there, but tonight's hunger would be satisfied.

"Do you need to get your stuff from the car?" Emmett asked.

"What stuff?"

"I don't know. Toothbrush, lime green underpants?"

"Um, hello? I was just going to a baseball game when I left my house tonight. I didn't know someone was entering the history books! All I have are the clothes on my back."

"You mean all you have is _me_ on your back," Emmett said with a wide grin.

"Was that an observation or a prediction?"

_Oh, Professor. _"I love it when you talk dirty to me."

XXX

Either Emmett was more exhausted than he'd realized or Edward was more forceful than usual after being cooped up in the elevator, but they were no sooner inside Emmett's bedroom than Edward had Emmett flat on his back and naked as the day he was born—with a significantly larger boner. Every time he reached for Edward, his hand was batted away.

"Relax, for once," Edward told him between kisses and licks. "Just shut down your brain and feel."

Emmett groaned as Edward pulled his balls into his mouth. _Oh, he was feeling, all right._ Edward moved over him from head to toe, gliding his wild crop of hair along Emmett's skin, brushing against Emmett with the jersey he now wanted to tear off the man's back, nipping at his belly and tonguing his way down Emmett's shaft. He tried to turn off his mind; still, Emmett's whole body was a mass of live wires whose switch had been turned on and off too many times tonight, and Edward wasn't exactly being gentle with him.

Emmett's processor was picking up impulses centered around his groin—the grip of a hand, the swipe of a tongue, the sensation of being opened and filled—but having a hell of a time assembling the larger picture. Fingers and lips moved up Emmett's body, trailing wet kisses up his belly, neck, and chin.

Edward's mouth closed over Emmett's in a soft kiss, then moved to his ear. "Gimme a sec?"

His lover's weight shifted off the bed, and Emmett thrashed out and grabbed his wrist. "Where are you going? You're not leaving me like this!"

Bending to kiss him again, Edward chuckled. "I promise you the next part will be a lot more fun without my clothes on."

With his last ounce of energy, Emmett grinned. "Carry on."

A pleasant buzz of anticipation embraced Emmett as he watched Edward strip out of his clothes and reverently drape his jersey over the chaise lounge. The man's pace was maddening. He had to be doing it on purpose to drive Emmett crazy. Edward turned and sauntered back to the bed, his erection leading the way like a blind man's cane.

"Supplies in the nightstand?"

"Mmhmm."

There was something crazy exciting about watching Edward reach into the drawer of _his_ nightstand for the condom and lube. _Make yourself at home, Professor. _

Edward wrestled the sheets out of the way, then settled in at Emmett's side. With eyes glinting in the faint light provided by the moon, Edward rolled the condom over Emmett's shaft and fisted him with a lubed-up palm.

"Ready for me?" Edward asked, straddling his thighs across Emmett's hips.

"Hell yes, but you're not ready for me." Emmett held out his fingers for a squirt of lube, but Edward shook his head.

"I got this." He gave Emmett a sexy-as-fuck grin as his fingers moved beneath him.

"_Fuck_, that is _hot_!"

Edward laid it on thick, putting on a real show for Emmett, complete with sound effects and erotic gyrations.

"Gimme that ass already, Professor!"

Edward chuckled and lined up over Emmett's tip. "C'mon, Mac. Let's see you hit this one outta the park."

Edward inched his way down the tip and shaft, pulsating around Emmett's cock until he reached the base. Emmett was beyond rational thought, his whole being reduced to the rise and fall of his lover. Emmett reached for Edward's cock, caressing him gently at first with the hand that had just pitched the no-hitter. As Edward's pumping grew more demanding, so did Emmett's palm, rolling and squeezing and pumping the cock bouncing against his belly.

Edward's hair bounced up and down with the pulsing motion, his neck straining at the effort of riding Emmett. His face tipped toward the ceiling as grunts became groans. The steady rhythm devolved into an erratic pounding. Edward lost control and covered Emmett's fisted hand with his own, forcing out a strangled cry—"OH GOD!"—before bursting into their joined hands.

Edward's orgasm set off Emmett's, hitting him like the explosion of champagne corks earlier in the locker room. With a low, rumbling groan, he released his hot spray inside his lover. Edward pressed up onto his knees and collapsed at Emmett's side, a panting, exhausted mess of a man.

His beautiful, perfect, smart, sexy partner.

"Thank you. That was the perfect ending to a perfect day."

Edward agreed with a soft hum. Reaching into the drawer again, Edward snagged a hand towel and mopped up the mess.

When the soft rustle of cleanup stopped, Emmett big-spooned Edward, sighing deeply into his shoulder blades. "I'm really glad you came."

Edward snorted, and soon the two of them were laughing until their stomachs hurt.

"That was so not what I meant," Emmett said, causing a new eruption of laughter.

"Can you simmer down now so we can get some sleep? I'm beat."

"I'll try," Edward answered, the sound of a smile obvious in his voice.

An all-is-right-with-the-world happiness settled into Emmett's heart for the night as his body pulled toward sleep.

"You still awake?" Edward's whisper cut through Emmett's drowsy half-dream state.

"Nope."

"Sorry," Edward said and went quiet again.

Emmett jiggled his hips against Edward's ass. "What is it?"

"I was just wondering, what _were_ you and Seaver discussing on the mound?"

This man's curiosity never ceased to amaze him. No wonder he was so fucking smart. His brain wouldn't let go of anything.

"Never mind," Edward said. "You don't have to say."

Emmett rolled up onto his elbow and peered down at Edward in the darkened room. He was pretending to be asleep, the old ostrich in the sand treatment. "Hey, you."

Edward opened one eye and squinted up at him. "Yeah?"

"I don't have any secrets from you. You've got the keys to the castle. Understand?"

Edward smiled up at him. "Sure."

Emmett nodded and sank back down against Edward's back. "So . . . I've just walked Dozier, right?"

"Mmhmm."

"Seaver struts out there and flicks the ball into my mitt, and he says, 'My old lady made the best fucking meatloaf today.' So I say, 'Yeah? What's so great about it?' thinking, you know, maybe there's some hidden message in the meat or something. And he says, 'I dunno. I was just really in the mood for it. It tasted really good.' So I say, 'Thanks, man. Good talk,' and he nods at me and jogs back to the plate.'"

Edward started to laugh again, his back jostling Emmett's chest. "Seriously? Meat loaf?"

"Yep."

"I'm kind of hungry now."

"G'night, Edward."

"G'night, Sixty-nine."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Happy birthday to my real life Tammy inspiration! There's a thread going in the patch with some Emmett love...feel free to add on!

Hope you all enjoyed their Norman Rockwell moment. :) I just couldn't get that image of the Edward on that bench, falling asleep waiting for him, out of my silly head. The meatloaf conversation was inspired by my tennis partner, who calls me over during matches to discuss dinner or sometimes just to say hi. I love her to the moon.  
**XOXOXO ~BOH**


	33. Chapter 33

**XXX CHAPTER 33 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The all-star game brings together the best and brightest, turning rivals into teammates**

**Is that supposed to make me feel better about not seeing you since Thursday?**

**Yes. Is it working?**

**No. What would work is having your fine ass socked away at the Marriott across the street and making conjugal visits 8 or 20 times a day.**

**As romantic as that sounds (!) you'd be missing all the fun!**

**Fun? You mean like the torture of going alone to the Dragons concert?**

**Alone? Did you not notice the other fifty thousand people?**

**Alone = without you. There's an equation for you, Professor. **

_Sappy much? Am I a pussy now? Would I be this cranky if I were a pussy? _Emmett was muddled, no two ways about it.

**Sorry, Em. That's one I can't solve for you.**

**Tell me about it. Damn, wish you could be here with me. You'd be soaking this shit up. **_And I'd be enjoying everything even more through your eyes._

**Stop teasing me!**

**My fingers are getting tired. I'm gonna call you.**

**Don't want to tire your fingers today! You have an all-star game to start!**

"No shit?" Emmett snarked when Edward answered his call. "What am I gonna do when you start working, and I have nobody to tell me which days I'm pitching?"

Edward chuckled into the phone, ignoring Emmett's increasingly morose attitude toward sharing his professor with the rest of the world. "I'm still going to tell you."

"Mmhmm, just like you watched the fireworks with me on Saturday night—long distance."

"Aww, it wasn't that bad."

_Sure. A text conversation while Edward watched the display on TV was peachy keen. _

"Maybe if you hadn't spoiled me so thoroughly on the Fourth of July . . ."

"I knew you liked my American flag Jell-O mold!"

"The Jell-O was actually surprisingly good, but I was referring to your reverse cowboy after the grand finale."

"If you're trying to make me blush, it's not working."

Emmett got a big smile out of that one. Making Edward blush had quickly become Emmett's second favorite thing to do, all the more so now that Edward was onto him. "No? What if I remind you how I was just lying next to you, watching the fireworks display, minding my own business—"

"Pshh, you haven't minded your own business since . . . _ever_!"

". . . And the next thing I know, my pants are down around my ankles, and there's a hot mathematician riding me like the Lone Ranger!"

"Yes, kemosabe, that's just how I remember it happening," Edward scoffed.

"And now I'm here and you're there, and I'm stuck in a crowd of fifty thousand strangers, praying the night sky hides the Pavlovian boner I'm apparently doomed to spring every time someone shoots off a rocket."

"Poor you. As I recall, I did help you take care of that problem when you got back to your room."

"Yes, you're handy that way."

Edward's warm laughter filled Emmett's ear. "Glad to help."

"Yes, I recall that too."

"So . . . how can I be of service this morning to my favorite all-star?"

_How did Edward do that, flip without any warning from teasing and playful to honey and heat?_ Emmett's transition was a choppier ride through dark wit. "If you're referring to Jeter, I will take the motherfucker down."

"You do know he's on your team today?"

"Like that would stop me . . ."

"Easy there, sixty-nine. You're the only all-star on my roster."

Emmett dropped all 215 pounds of muscle—including two in the form of a rock-hard boner—onto his bed. "In that case, Professor, service away."

XXX

**Leaving airport. Open door in 24 minutes.**

**That's well above the speed limit. Please be careful.**

**Getting to you is a sprint—the marathon comes after that. ;)**

**Promises, promises.**

**Oh yeah? Have I ever failed to deliver?**

_"Text message received from Professor Spock. Read it or ignore?"_

Emmett smirked at the Spyder's matter-of-fact pronunciation. "Read it!"

_"__**Always MacPERfect**__." _

_"Say, 'Answer,' or, 'I'm done.'"_

"Answer!"

_"Speak your message for Professor Spock."_

"You better be ready for me."

_"Text message received from Professor Spock. Read it or ignore?"_

"Read it!" Emmett shouted without checking his enthusiasm.

_"__**They're red."**_

_Fucking-a. Red! Only Emmett's favorite._

He drove the rest of the route with a huge grin on his face. Five days away from Edward was about five days too many, but their reunions were getting to be epic. Emmett had presented him with a jumbo tube of lube upon his return from New York, but this time, he had an even better gift.

Palming the autographed baseball, he tucked his left hand behind his back and knocked once before the door swung open. Red undies and a crop of goosebumps were all Edward had on, bless him.

"Welcome home," Edward said, locked in place, as if he'd been standing there anticipating Emmett's touch the whole time he'd been away.

Something primal reared up inside Emmett, seeing his boyfriend waiting for him like this, practically naked with his arms folded behind his back. Emmett reached for the tight nipples begging for his attention, drawing a sharp gasp from Edward, who made no move to touch him back. _Curious. _Emmett stepped closer, licking around the shell of Edward's ear as his other hand traveled lower. Edward twitched but stood his ground.

"What's happening here? Are you posing for a sculpture or something? Because this is one piece of fine art I could definitely learn to live with . . . altho-ough"—Emmett slid a finger into the waistband of the devilish boxers—"it might be a more interesting composition without these."

"I have something I want to show you," Edward sputtered out, his eyes tracking Emmett's fingers as they dipped inside his boxers.

"By all means," Emmett answered, slipping his hand deeper inside and stroking Edward's erection. "I'm sure I'd love to see anything you'd like to show me."

Edward cleared his throat and took a step backward. "Could you . . ." He flicked his fingers, gesturing for Emmett to give him some space. With an amused grin, Emmett complied.

"Okay," Edward said, suddenly more nervous and shy than Emmett had seen him in weeks. "Here goes nothing."

With a dramatic flourish, Edward brought his hands around front, revealing the juggling balls Emmett had given him weeks before and tossing them one at a time into the space between them. Emmett couldn't figure where to focus, his gaze bouncing like a super ball from Edward's long, nimble fingers to the bundle of joy doing the jig inside those damn red hot pants, pausing to appreciate the pop and roll of his tight abs before coming to rest on the adorably scrunched face with the tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

"Look at you go! Someone's been practicing."

A slight bobble sent the magical red undies scrambling to compensate, amusing Emmett with balls flying both high and low. Edward let out a tight breath and found his footing. "Shush, you!"

Emmett grinned. "My lips are sealed."

Edward gave him a disbelieving "Mhmm" while he regained his rhythm.

Taking great pains to hold his comments inside and refrain from manhandling the sexy juggler, Emmett watched quietly for several minutes before his need to see the back view got the best of him. Traveling gingerly around the undulating body, Emmett reached the Holy Grail—the clenching and unclenching butt cheeks of T'Bobo, the juggling Vulcan.

"What . . . are you doing . . . back there?" Edward forced out his words with each upsweep of his right arm.

"You didn't tell me I couldn't look!"

"Behave yourself!"

"What's the matter, Professor?" he asked, stepping close enough to Edward that Emmett's leg brushed against the soft hair on the inside of Edward's thigh. "Don't you trust me?"

"No! Not . . . one . . . tiny . . . bit!" Edward swayed a bit, then steadied.

"Aw, c'mon. What'm'I gonna do? Toss in a fourth ball for you to juggle?"

Emmett reached around Edward's side, grabbing hold of the jostling buns with his left hand while tossing the autographed baseball into Edward's juggling arc.

"Hey! What the—HOLY SHIT! WHAT'S THIS?"

All three squishy, bean-filled bags plopped to the floor with an angry, _hey-what-about-me_ thud. Edward caught the baseball and spun into Emmett's arms. "What did you do?" Holding the ball in the palm of his hand as if it were the Hope Diamond, Edward twisted it reverently until he'd read each and every name scrawled on its surface. "This is amazing! You have to put this in a glass case immediately!"

Emmett chuckled. "I don't have to do anything. It's yours."

"What? You got this for me? All these names? You don't even like half these people."

"First of all, that's not true. There are only two—okay, three—I truly detest. And second, I like _you_, and that's all that matters."

Edward looped his arms around Emmett's neck and kissed him soundly on the lips. "Thank you. This is the best gift on the planet." More kisses, a little tongue. "I mean it, Emmett. I will treasure this."

Edward's body, still warm from the juggling, pressed against him. "And I will treasure the image of you juggling for me. That was dazzling, truly."

"I had to do something while you were away. I was going nuts."

"Me too," Emmett answered. That guilt that lived just below the surface was poking its ugly face up for air. The league's all-star weekend was the one family-friendly stretch in the summer's long, rigorous baseball schedule, and Emmett was one of the few without a girlfriend or wife to share it with. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring you with me." Emmett's hands slid inside the back of Edward's boxers, cupping his cheeks and squeezing. "I missed these."

"You romantic fool." Edward chuckled before leaning in to kiss him again.

Emmett finished off the kiss with a swipe of his tongue across Edward's upper lip. "Fine, I missed this too." He reached down and cupped Edward's balls. "And I definitely missed these."

Raising his eyebrows, Edward answered with a smirk of his own. "If you'll recall, I did offer to stow away in your luggage . . . more than once."

"Yes, you little tempter. I recall quite clearly. If only . . ."

_If only people could just accept us._

_If only I weren't such a damn pussy._

_If only I didn't have so much to lose._

". . . If only I could trust myself around you in public."

Edward's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "You and your mauling!"

"Forget mauling! I was referring to the dumbass way I'm sure I look at you."

As Emmett's words sank in, Edward's eyes narrowed and glazed over. "That's kind of my favorite part."

"Me being a dumbass?"

"Mmhmm," Edward hummed, running his hands down Emmett's back. "The chink in your armor."

"Armor? Jesus, Edward. My armor is Swiss cheese when I'm around you."

"Is that a bad thing?" They were rocking slowly, almost imperceptibly, but the movement was enough to both soothe Emmett and make him want to tackle Edward to the floor.

Emmett laughed. "It's certainly new and different for me . . . but surprisingly, no, not bad—not when we're alone, at least. But you know all it takes is the wrong person catching us, and I'm cooked."

"I know. It's all good. I'll take what I can get in private."

Guilt curdled Emmett's insides. Edward deserved better, and so did he, but for now, this was what they had, and Emmett was damn well making the most of it. "Speaking of private, what the hell are we still doing out here with my clothes on?"

Edward reached for the button of Emmett's shorts. "I believe you were telling me what you missed about me."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Shoutout to Shadow Masen for the T'Bobo reference. I knoweth not of these things.

Well, it looks like our boy has some ball skillz! And Emmett knows he's a dumbass. Happy days!

**xxx ~BOH**


	34. Chapter 34

**XXX CHAPTER 34 XXX**

Emmett fiddled with the air vents, but no mere blast of cold air from the Volvo ventilation system could stem the tide of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Remind me how you talked me into this again."

Edward glanced across at his anxious passenger, the beginnings of a smile edging up the corners of his mouth. "I believe I mentioned my mother's red velvet cupcakes?"

"Damn, I'm a sucker for red velvet cake."

_You're a sucker for me, _Edward's smile told him, and hell if he wasn't right. Nobody was buying Emmett's story; he couldn't resist Edward's invitation to the intimate eve-of-new-job celebration his folks were throwing for him. "Nothing to be ashamed about," Edward joked.

"What exactly did you tell them about us?"

"Mom invited me to bring a friend along, and I told them I was asking you. The rest is yours to share or not share."

"You know I'm not ready to tell anyone."

"You know I'm okay with whatever you decide."

"You're out to your folks, right?"

Edward's soft chuckle answered the question for him. "Yes. I will take your secrets to the grave, but I'm lousy at keeping my own."

"It's sort of charming," Emmett told him.

"Whatever." Edward's embarrassed eye roll made Emmett smile. "It was no big deal to my parents, so I never really had a reason to lock myself in the closet."

"Yeah, my family's cool too, but they hate that I have to hide." With a sigh, Emmett shifted back to the imminent visit. "You do realize within five seconds of being in the room with us, they're gonna know."

Edward shrugged. "Not if you don't give me your I-want-to-pounce-you look."

"Hey, I was giving you that look for weeks before you figured it out."

The sound of Edward's laughter filled the car, lifting some of the doom and gloom weighing down Edward's chest. "My dad's a lot smarter than I am."

"Pfft, I hardly see how that's possible, Professor." Was Emmett egging him on? Sure. Edward was adorkable in proud son mode, and Emmett had a sneaking feeling Mom and Dad Cullen were going to be equally gushy over their son.

Edward gave him a knowing nod. "Oh, just wait."

_Yes, this evening could definitely be entertaining, _he decided. Emmett fingered the autographed picture of Robinson Cano he was holding in his lap. "You sure your mom is gonna like this?"

Shaking his head, Edward grinned. "Yes. Hopefully, she won't embarrass herself too badly. Be prepared for a gazillion questions. I apologize in advance."

"Aww, you don't have to apologize. Fangirl crushes are adorable."

Edward side-eyed him, barely shifting his gaze from the road. "That's gonna cost you, McCarty."

Cupping his hand around the back of Edward's neck, Emmett tickled his earlobe with a playful flick of the thumb. "I love it when you get fierce."

Edward gave him one of his long-suffering sighs, but the goosebumps under Emmett's fingers gave him away. "You better put your hand down," Edward said, drawing a low chuckle from Emmett.

"Why? Are you gonna break my fingers?"

"Nope," he answered, "because we're here."

XXX

Carlisle answered the door, extending his hand and gently welcoming Emmett inside. "Pleasure to have you here, Emmett."

"Thank you for the invitation."

Father and son embraced, pulling away with loud claps on each other's backs. "Does Mom know we're here?" Edward asked.

Carlisle rolled his eyes and leaned in to speak softly to them both. "Your mother has been in the kitchen for hours. She has this idea that the Mariners travel with a master chef, and she doesn't want to disappoint our guest."

"Oh, brother," Edward said. "You should see some of the crap he eats."

Emmett couldn't dispute the validity of Edward's remark, though the intimacy threw him off balance for a second. Emmett's food repertoire had most definitely "expanded" since he and Edward had started spending more time together. Lingering at the beach and enjoying brunch or an early lunch after their runs . . . grabbing the occasional late afternoon ice cream cone before practice . . . stuffing their faces with popcorn and Butterfingers while they watched a movie on Emmett's ginormous screen. They worked it all off in the bedroom—and the living room and most definitely, the shower—a little tidbit Emmett preferred to push from his mind right now.

Carlisle chuckled and gave Emmett a pat on his arm. "You'll eat well tonight. Come in, come in. What would you like to drink? Wine, beer, club soda?"

"Club soda sounds great, thanks," Emmett answered.

"And for you, Edward?"

"I'll take a beer."

"Okay, you boys relax, and I'll see if I can unchain your mother from the hot coals."

Carlisle exited, giving Emmett freedom to snoop. The framed photos lining the bookshelves caught his attention first. Edward trailed silently behind as Emmett studied each snippet of Edward's childhood. The first thing that became painfully obvious was that Edward had severely underrepresented his achievements. Edward groaned as Emmett picked up the frame displaying a younger, lankier version of Edward—same wild hair and intense green eyes—proudly clutching a trophy that was bigger than his head.

"Holy shit, man. Did you _win_ Nationals? You kind of glossed over that little detail."

Edward gently but firmly grabbed the picture out of Emmett's hands and placed it back on the shelf. "Third place. Big difference."

Emmett turned to regard his very twitchy boyfriend, whose gaze was willing Emmett down to the end of the line of photos as powerfully as possible. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Reliving the awkward acne years . . . good times."

"I think you look adorable." Emmett chuckled, lifting the next photo, a shot of early-teenage Edward on the deck of a boat with his parents. "Where was this one taken?"

"St. Thomas. Two weeks on a boat every summer since I can remember."

"Hence your ease in the ocean?"

"Mmm," Edward said, stealing away the picture and adding a matter of fact, "and my skill with a fishing rod."

Emmett grinned. "Another sport for the patient man."

"You ought to try it sometime," Edward replied.

"Oh, I don't think so. Waking at the butt crack of dawn, impaling worms on hooks, numbing your ass on a wooden seat for hours? You might as well shoot me now."

Edward leaned in, nearly whispering into the shell of his ear. "Privacy and bathing suits . . . or not." He pulled away with a gleam in his eye. _So, it was gonna be like that._

"You suck."

Turning from temptation, Emmett wandered to the game table across the room, where he found an exact replica—or so he presumed—of the game set up in Edward's house. "Here's where it all happens, eh?" Emmett studied the board, but the pieces refused to march forward in formation for Emmett the way they seemed to for Edward.

"Yep. It's my move," Edward said, raising the volume as his father approached. "Probably why Dad's trying to get me drunk."

"Pshhh. I think I'd need to ply you with a case of Stellas to give me any kind of chance."

Emmett caught Edward's eye. At least Edward knew when to bring out his sheepish look.

"I knew it."

Handing Emmett his drink, Carlisle asked, "Knew what?"

"Your son told me you were the superior chess player."

Carlisle's rich laughter rang out, and on its tail Mrs. Carlisle Cullen rode into the room. A stunning brunette, she'd clearly passed along her delicately-bowed lips and iridescent green eyes to her son. The squared-off jaw and strong nose came from Carlisle's side, and Edward's hair was some genetic outcome Emmett couldn't begin to explain.

Mrs. Cullen led with her hand, racing across the hardwood floor to greet Emmett. Giddy and eager, she lurched forward when her heel caught the edge of the area rug, and for one terrifying second, Emmett was sure the woman would wind up face-first in his crotch. Carlisle shot forward to catch her, but Emmett was closer, and his reflexes were better. He managed to lean in and scoop her up before the point of impact, dodging an intensely sketchy moment with his boyfriend's mother's mouth.

Emmett chuckled warmly. "You must be Mrs. Cullen."

"I'm afraid so," she answered as she righted herself, running her hands down her disheveled blouse and skirt. "And you're Emmett McCarty. My, you're bigger than you look on TV!"

While Emmett bit back laughter, Edward let out a giant guffaw, which Emmett met with raised eyebrows. Carlisle watched the entire scene with the same amused tolerance he'd shown his son in the locker room. Apparently, such displays were not uncommon with this family.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Cullen had gathered herself and was now blushing madly. "Oh dear, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. I guess I'm a little starstruck."

Emmett glanced over at Edward, who was hiding his face behind his hands. _Like mother, like son. _Emmett set down his drink and extended his right hand, and when she placed her smaller hand inside his, Emmett sealed the deal by clasping them both. "It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Cullen."

"Oh, please, call me Esme."

"Esme," Emmett repeated with a nod. "That reminds me, I have something for you . . ." Pivoting in place, he reached for the photo on the coffee table. "My friend Robinson asked me to give you this."

Esme gasped, reaching for the photo with shaky fingers. Carlisle stepped in closer to his wife's side, prepared to catch her if she fainted. "It's signed 'Para mi amada, Esme,' and he drew a pair of hearts!" She quivered, clutching the photo to her chest.

Edward shot Emmett a no-you-didn't headshake, which he answered with a wink. _Yes, I sure as hell did. Why not pull out all the stops to impress the folks?_

Slipping an arm around his wife's shoulders, Carlisle said, "Easy, dear. You don't want to crumple your boyfriend."

Esme looked over at her son. "You arranged this?"

"I mentioned it to Emmett, and he took it from there."

_Careful, Edward._ _That moony look on your face is going to do us both in._

"Well, thank you both," she said, tears pooling in her eyes.

"It's the least I could do," Emmett answered. "I understand you're a huge fan."

"I am!" she gushed. "Oh, I mean, I love the whole team, you included, of course . . ."

"Mom, just stop. Please," Edward begged.

Esme waved her son's concerns away. "Oh, Edward, I'm sure Emmett's used to this by now. He's a superstar, after all."

"You're fine," Emmett replied. "I do get the occasional overzealous fan"—Emmett glanced over at Edward and gave him a huge grin—"but it's all good."

"Well, I will treasure this. Bless your heart for asking Robinson for the autograph. Now, how about we sit down to dinner?"

XXX

"I'm going to have to speak to my running coach about adding an extra circuit to work off your risotto, but that was so worth it."

Edward set down his fork and chimed in. "Now you see why I had to start running."

Esme beamed back at Emmett as he rubbed his very full belly. "I'm so happy you enjoyed it, dear."

"I think you could give our team chef a run for his money, Esme. Except for the fact that we'd all turn into tubbos, it'd be a perfect arrangement."

Eyes bright with amusement, Carlisle leaned toward his wife across the square table. "Could you imagine it, darling? Serving Robinson Cano his meals before a big game? He'd be so _grateful_!"

Esme blushed a deep crimson as she reached for her wine glass. "You're terrible, Carlisle!" She gulped down half the glass before fixing her gaze on Emmett. "How about your girlfriend? Is she a good cook?"

"Uh—"

Edward cut in with a sharp shake of his head. "Mom!"

"What?" Esme's head shot from Edward to Emmett. "What'd I say?"

"It's okay," Emmett answered. "We broke up a few weeks ago." It had been several weeks since Emmett had felt like a lying coward, but the churning in his belly came roaring back.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry."

"To answer your question, Tammy's more of a take-out girl." Emmett put a smile on his face and prayed for the topic to blow over.

For the first time since they'd sat down to dinner, an uncomfortable hush came over the group. Emmett poked at the last few peas sitting on his plate, too stuffed to even consider bringing them to his mouth but too afraid to look up and see the awkward glances he was sure the Cullens were passing around.

Esme broke the silence. "If you all are finished, I'll go heat up the pie." She stood abruptly, banging her knee into the table and causing the silverware to rattle. Her face scrunched in pain, but she gathered her plate and utensils and took off without a word.

"You okay, honey?" Carlisle asked after her.

"Yes, I'm fine." Her false bravado carried from the kitchen, fooling no one.

"She should put some ice on that. Oh, look who I'm giving medical advice to," Emmett said with a soft shake of his head.

Carlisle acknowledged his remark with a grin. "I'm sure you have more experience with scrapes and bumps than I ever will."

"I bet Trey would know what to do," Edward said, drawing an eye roll from Emmett.

Emmett pulled in a deep breath and exhaled, wiped his sweaty palms on his linen napkin, and pushed his chair back from the table. "Excuse me, please," he said as he retraced Esme's path into the kitchen.

Slumped over at the kitchen table, Esme leaned on one elbow and stared out the window. Emmett approached from behind, doing his best not to startle her. "How's the knee?"

She jumped and spun around, hand on her heart. "Oh! Emmett! You scared me! I'll live. Why don't you go sit down with the boys and relax? I'll be out when the pie is hot."

Emmett's belly twitched, but he pressed forward. "Mind if I sit down?"

Her expression oozed confusion. "No, of course not."

Emmett sank into the chair closest to Esme and angled his body toward her. He opened his mouth to speak and realized he had no idea what to say. Edward would keep Emmett's secrets, but at what cost? Esme and Carlisle were good people who'd always supported their son, and Emmett was driving a wedge between them with his pile of lies.

Esme filled the void with more apologies. "I'm so sorry I didn't know about your breakup. I try to stay far away from those gossip rags."

"That's a good thing," Emmett said. "I wish everyone did, actually."

"Well, you know, some people have nothing better to do than to stick their nose in everyone else's business."

Emmett couldn't help smiling. "Tell me about it."

"Anyway, your personal life is none of my business, and I feel terrible for embarrassing you."

"You didn't. I'm the one who should feel terrible."

"Why is that?" she asked, leaning her folded arms on the table between them.

Emmett took a deep breath. "Mrs. C, there's something I would really like to share with you right now, but I need you to understand how much my privacy means to me. If this should get out, my career would be in serious jeopardy."

"Of course. Any friend of Edward's is a son of ours. Anything you want to share is safe here." Esme tapped the side of her head. "Fort Knox."

Exhaling a shaky sigh, Emmett continued. "I trust Edward, and Edward trusts you and your husband, and I don't want to carry on this charade with the two of you."

Esme scooted closer and placed her hand on Emmett's arm. "Dear, are you in some kind of trouble?"

Emmett chuckled, because yes, she could certainly say that. "No, no, it's nothing like that."

She waited patiently for him to explain, regarding him with utter acceptance simply because Edward had brought him home. "The thing is, Edward isn't just a friend."

"Yes, he told us about your running sessions. We think it's just lovely how you two have been working together."

"It's not just the coaching, Esme. There's . . . more to it." _Come on, lady. Turn on the light bulb!_

"I'm sorry, I'm not—oh! OH! You mean you"—Esme pointed her thumb toward the dining room—"and _Edward_ . . . oh, how wonderful!" Esme jumped up and wrapped her arms around Emmett's neck, squishing him in a tight hug.

"Yes, ma'am, it is." Relieved that he'd unburdened them both, Emmett soaked in Esme's affection and joy.

Releasing him from the hug, Esme turned grave. "Oh dear, is that why you and your girlfriend broke up? Were you . . . _are _you . . . ugh, there I go again with the intimate questions! Never mind an old lady."

"It's okay. I understand. You don't want to see your son hurt. Maybe we should go back out and let Doctor C in on the conversation as well?" _And Edward. _Now that he was free to claim his boyfriend, Emmett needed Edward close.

"Yes, of course. Let me grab the pie first, or we'll be having burnt embers à la mode for dessert."

Emmett waited as patiently as humanly possible while Esme retrieved the cherry pie from the oven. Carrying a stack of plates and forks, Emmett followed an unnaturally bouncy Esme to the dining room.

In a high, chirpy voice, Esme announced, "Here comes pie!" She set down the steaming dish between her husband and son—both men regarding her with curious stares—gave Edward a peck on the cheek, and placed an oven-mitt-covered hand on her husband's shoulder.

Carlisle lifted his head to examine his wife. "Darling, are you feeling okay?"

"I am wonderful, but I think there's something the boys want to tell us."

Emmett exchanged a brief nod with Edward, conveying everything his partner needed to know. Edward's lips spread into a gorgeous smile as he rose from his chair and took his place at Emmett's side. Edward cleared his throat. "Mom, Dad . . . Emmett and I are . . ." Edward faltered, turning to Emmett to complete the sentence.

Emmett opened his hand and pulled Edward's fingers between his own. Giving his hand a firm squeeze, Emmett finished for Edward. "Together."

Carlisle raised both arms to the ceiling and shouted, "Can I get a hallelujah?"

In the aftermath of the chain hugging immediately following their revelation, Esme chided Carlisle. "You knew?"

"Don't forget, I was standing there when they first met. These two could've blown the roof off the clubhouse with the looks they were passing back and forth. Yes, I saw it, but I didn't know they'd have the courage to go for it. Hmm, come to think of it, Edward _has_ been much calmer at the games."

"That makes two of us," Emmett said, tempted as hell to kiss those grinning lips right off his lover.

The statistician couldn't resist chiming in. "It's true. If you take a look at Emmett's ERA pre- and post-July 3, you can see a point six improvement!"

"Stop with the dirty talk, Professor! Jeez, your folks are standing right here!"

"Oh, my! Edward, your face is brighter red than my cherry pie!"

"Speaking of dessert," Carlisle said, "we should eat it while it's hot. Why don't you boys go in the kitchen and get the ice cream?"

_God bless you, Dr. Cullen._

Emmett all but dragged Edward into the kitchen, flattened him against the refrigerator, and claimed those lips that had taunted him all through dinner. Edward opened for him, putting up no resistance as teeth and tongues clashed in a mad frenzy. As the intense rush eased its grip on Emmett's system, Edward's fingers pulled gently through his hair, soothing his lover back to the here and now.

Pressing forward once more, Emmett left one last, lingering kiss on Edward's mouth. "I guess we better get the ice cream now."

Edward chuckled. "We'll be lucky if we didn't just melt the entire contents of the freezer with that kiss."

"Sorry, I couldn't help it."

"That wasn't a complaint," Edward said, joining his hands behind Emmett's neck. "I'm so proud of you for coming out to my parents."

"I couldn't ask you to lie to your mom for another second. I don't know how you survived your teenage years in this house."

Edward shrugged. "I never needed to lie, which is why I'm so miserable at it."

"It's a really good thing to be bad at," Emmett said with a chuckle. "I'm sorry you're stuck keeping my secret. I'm sure it sucks."

Edward's smile widened again. "Yes, it does—nightly."

"That's it; I'm cutting you off. Any more dirty talk, and I'm not gonna be able to spend another minute without mauling you. Let's just get through dessert, and you can open that filthy mouth in the car and tease me all the way home, eh?"

"Sounds like a plan . . . unless you wanted to challenge my father to a game of chess?"

Emmett rolled his eyes. "I think I have my hands full with you, Professor."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Don't you wish everyone's parents were like this? And wasn't Emmett brave?

In case you missed it, there's a contest called Meet the Mate that's well worth checking out. All the entries are in (77 in total), and I've got one in there...somewhere. I'd love to know if you could identify my writing style (but I can't confirm or deny your choice until the authors are revealed). Voting starts tomorrow. Better get reading! Look up the author MeetTheMate here on fanfic and don't forget to leave some review love while you're there! Many authors are first timers, along with some of your tried-and-true favorites!

**XXX ~BOH**


	35. Chapter 35

**XXX CHAPTER 35 XXX**

Emmett typed with a wide grin on his face, sure Edward would appreciate his newfound treasure trove of math jokes. **Descartes is sitting in a bar late one night. At last call, the bartender asks him, "Want another?" Descartes answers, "I think not," and disappears.**

**That's better than yesterday's about the chicken crossing the Mobius strip to get to the same side.**

_Yeah, that one was pretty funny. _**I found a new website. *smile***

**What time do you leave for practice? **Edward's pretend irritation wasn't fooling Emmett; he could practically see the grin on his boyfriend's face.

**Oh, don't worry—not until your free period is over.**

**Wonderful.**

**Here's a good one: Did you hear about the constipated mathematician? He worked it out with a pencil.**

**You're killing me, Mac.**

**Would you prefer I go back to sexting you?**

**NO!**

**Math jokes it is, then.**

**How about if I tell you about my meeting with my boss this morning instead?**

**In trouble already, Professor? It's only your third week!**

**That's what it feels like every time she calls me into her office. I've been assigned my extracurricular duties for the year.**

**Do tell! Hip hop club? Marching band?**

**Close, but no. I've got chess club, math club, and—wait for it…**

**WHAT?**

**Oh, I'm coaching tee-ball.**

**NO FUCKING WAY! That is awesome! I can help! **

**That is maybe your worst idea ever.**

**Why do you say that? I was planning to bring Sawyer anyway. And as you might recall, I actually know a few things about playing the game.**

**When's the last time you played tee-ball?**

**Very funny. Come on, you can be in charge. I'll just offer some friendly advice now and then.**

**Dammit, Em! You can't put YOU on the same field with me and start…doing actual baseball things and expect me to pretend we're not who we are to each other!**

Emmett had to admit to a slight tingle at Edward's near-declaration of his feelings. Still overly cautious or maybe afraid the whole thing would evaporate if he spoke the words, Edward had kept to beating around the bush—"who we are to each other", "how we feel about each other", "what you mean to me"—without ever saying those actual words. Not that Emmett had offered up the big trifecta either, but he sure as shit knew what he felt because he'd certainly never felt this before.

**Don't deny me this, Edward. This might be the closest I ever come to seeing my own kid play the game. **_Okay, maybe playing the surrogate daddy card was a bit unfair, but desperate times . . ._

**You can watch him just fine from the sidelines with the other parents. Besides, what about spring training?**

**Pitchers and catchers is only a couple weeks. I can work around the schedule. I'm sure you don't have practices every day.**

**You know what? No. You're too hot, and that's that. You need to stay away. Promise me you'll stay away.**

The professor was running short on reasoning, it seemed. **Oh come on, you're selling yourself short. Look at all those times you've used restraint around me. You're evolved!**

**NO**

**I forgot how stubborn Mr. Spock could be.**

**In the face of a highly illogical suggestion, one must answer with a firm, sensible response. And that response is no.**

**We'll discuss this later. I need to make my case in person.**

**Oh no you don't! You think I don't know what you have in mind?**

**I sincerely hope you do…and I hope you'll think about it for the rest of the day, because I sure as shit will be.**

**You're evil.**

**I thought you liked my tenacious spirit.**

**Ugh! There's the bell. Break an arm, 69.**

**Enjoy your afternoon, Professor. See you tonight. Kiss kiss.**

XXX

"One hundred twelve pitches tonight, and you're not even tight!" Trey's hands worked their way up Emmett's right shoulder, pressing, healing, measuring.

"You sound disappointed," Emmett said with a chuckle.

"I'd say I'm mystified. Six weeks ago, you were a basket of knots. Now, you're as loose as the elastic in my old man's boxers. Unless you've been doing hot yoga on the side, I'd say there's only one explanation for this."

The knots absent from Emmett's shoulder tugged at his gut. "What's your theory, Einstein?"

They had another two innings of alone-time in the locker room before the team piled in, but Trey leaned in anyway. "Somebody's getting laid."

"Wow, you can tell all this from my shoulder? Or have you been massaging my dick when I wasn't looking?"

Trey gave him a playful pat on the cheek. "That's well above my pay grade, sweetheart."

Emmett's brain raced through the few seconds their shared laugh afforded him, but the alibi mill was churning up nothing useful. _Maybe if I give in on the general point, Trey won't press for details._ "All right, yes, you got me."

"I knew it! You know I'd never say anything bad about Tammy, but—"

"Don't!" Emmett shot Trey a warning look that made him shake his head.

"Honestly, I was only going to say I noticed the difference in you once you two broke up. Nothing against the girl, but you seem more relaxed the last few weeks; there's more 'Big Mac' swagger to your step."

Emmett continued to eye Trey warily, but once he started digging, there was no stopping the man.

"So, was this new girl in the stands tonight?"

He answered with a noncommittal, "Yes."

"Well, aren't you gonna bring her by?"

"What's the up side? Why the hell would I want a bunch of horny ballers putting their eyeballs all over my . . ." With no safe way to complete the sentence, Emmett changed course. "I don't see you inviting Celia out with the team."

Trey chuffed. Moving to Emmett's neck, he continued the rubdown. "You have a point there. I'd just like to meet the person who's making my job so easy lately. I mean, between her and Edward—"

Emmett swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. _This was all way too close for comfort._

"—I don't know who to thank first!" A pair of probing thumbs rubbed up and down the stem of Emmett's neck. "Crap, am I upsetting you? You're tightening up back here."

_Fuuuuuck! _Emmett dropped his chin to his chest. _Chill out, man._

Trey discovered a new kink and kneaded it with skilled fingers. "Sorry, Mac. I'll just shut up now."

_It's a little late for that, my friend. I've already racked up another lie of omission on my record. _Emmett's guilt outpaced Trey's technique, creating fresh knots faster than his trainer could work them out. The whole thing was a losing proposition, a battle Emmett no longer had the will to fight.

Emmett reached up and trapped Trey's hands against his neck. "Hang on, man."

"What's wrong? Am I hurting you?"

"No . . . shit. _I'm _hurting me," Emmett answered, dropping his hand with a loud sigh and slumping back in the chair.

Trey slid his hand to Emmett's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Is there any chance I can get you to talk to me for once?"

Emmett shifted so he could look into the compassionate eyes of the man who'd asked him that same question over and over again during their three-year professional relationship. "Actually, yes."

Trey's blue eyes opened wide with surprise. "Really? Shit, I don't know whether to be happy you're finally opening up to me or terrified of what you might say. Hang on, lemme pull up a stool. Don't go anywhere!"

"Where the hell am I gonna go all greased up like a bowl of buttered popcorn?" Emmett had to chuckle though he felt the bottom falling out of his carefully controlled world.

Trey wheeled himself over and propped his hands on his knees. "Okay, I'm listening."

_After coming out to Edward and his folks, this really should be getting easier, _Emmett mused. Trey could be trusted, as he'd proven time and time again with Emmett's injuries and issues over the years. He had Emmett's back—quite literally—and Emmett had no qualms the man could keep quiet. So many times in the past, Emmett had been tempted to let the cat out of the bag, and what a goddamn relief it would be to have someone at work understand what was going on inside his head. If only he could figure out how to start this conversation.

Emmett opened with the ever-appropriate, "So, funny thing . . ."

"Okay?"

"You mentioned how much Edward's helped me this summer, and then you mentioned how this _other_ person has . . . _ahem . . ._ loosened me up . . ."

Trey grinned. "Mmhmm?"

Feeling completely exposed, Emmett folded his arms across his chest. "Would it surprise you very much to learn that it's actually all the same person?"

From the look of confusion that crossed Trey's face, Emmett concluded he was indeed quite surprised. "Who's the same person? Same as what? Edward and the _girl_? Jesus, Mac, did you take a ball to the skull out there? You're making no sense!"

Despite himself, Emmett laughed out loud. "Trey, you're seriously overthinking this. Slow it down upstairs and try again."

The moment Trey figured it out, he turned into a Warner Brothers character with his jaw dropped open and his eyes bugged out. "Are you saying your swagger is _all Edward?_"

"A, yes, and B, could you please keep it down?"

"Shit, sorry! But you have to admit that's quite the bomb you just dropped, my friend." Rolling closer, Trey asked, "So you're bi?"

"Nope. I'm one hundred percent gay. All boys all the time. And I hope you can appreciate why I've never shared this."

"Of course, and I hope you know your secret is safe with me." Trey shook his head. "So, none of the guys know? Not even Fuller?"

"No. I can count on two hands the people who know, and I need to keep it that way—at least for now."

"Wow, what a heavy burden you've been carrying around all this time. I can't imagine."

"I have come so close to telling you so many times," Emmett said. "This doesn't change anything between us, does it?"

"Actually, it does. I've always understood your body pretty well, but there's always been this barrier I couldn't breach . . ."

"Jesus, Trey, are you saying you want to fuck me?"

"_What_? No! How the hell did you get that—?"

Emmett burst out laughing. "I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. You were getting me all hot with your talk about breaching barriers. Go on, please."

"I see you're still an ass. That's a relief."

"Could we please stop talking about my ass?"

"I have no idea what I was about to say."

"Come on, the barrier you couldn't breach. Stick with it, Slick."

"Yes, okay, fine. There were parts of yourself you kept closed off, and I've done my best to work through the wall, but it's not easy. You've let down your guard now, and that's a good thing. So yes, things will change between us, but only in the best possible way."

"Huh. Does this mean I can start getting happy endings?"

"Now, now—you know if I do it for you, all the boys are going to want one." Trey stood and kicked his stool away. "Let's take a look at that neck, shall we?"

And just like that, they were Mac and Trey again.

XXX

Edward pulled open the front door before Emmett had a chance to ring the bell. "Don't even think about it," he told him. "The answer is still no. And great game tonight, baby."

It was corny as hell, but Emmett's insides turned to mush when Edward called him that. Emmett kicked the door closed as his lips met Edward's. "Don't _you _think I'm not going to try to change your mind . . . _baby._" Kiss-walking Edward backwards until his legs knocked into the couch, Emmett tugged open his boyfriend's belt and jeans and gave him a shove.

Edward chuckled as his back hit the cushions. "Aren't you supposed to be tired after one hundred twelve pitches?"

"Meh, who's counting?" Emmett climbed on top of him, pinning Edward's hands over his head. "Oh wait—you are." No, Emmett wasn't feeling tired at all, not when their lips and erections played together so nicely.

"Fuck, I missed you today," Emmett said between kisses. "Why don't you quit your job and let me be your sugar daddy?"

He gave Edward no opportunity to answer, smothering him with lips and tongue until they were both gasping for air. "I don't think I'm quite ready to be a kept man."

"Too bad. I'm keeping you." Emmett hopped up onto his knees and popped the snaps on his shorts. Shoving them out of the way along with his boxers, he licked his lips impatiently while Edward shimmied out of his jeans.

"Em, the condoms are in the bedroom."

"Don't need one," he answered, rolling onto his side next to Edward. Lining up both erections in his hand, Emmett stroked them together. "Feel good?"

Edward answered with a low grunt and an arch of his back.

"Know what this hand did tonight, big boy?"

"Mmm . . . fifteen strikeouts . . . _ahhh_ . . . two pickoffs . . . _fuuuuck!_ . . . 98.3-miles-per-hour fastball . . ."

"That's right," Emmett said. "Were you thinking about my hand on your cock while I was pitching?"

"No!"

"No?" Emmett chuckled, placing his lips at Edward's ear. "It's okay. I won't think less of you if you were fantasizing about me during the game."

"Maybe a little, but I promise I was focused."

"Mmhmm." Blowing a warm stream of air around the shell of Edward's ear, Emmett rolled on top of Edward and pinned him to the couch. "Just imagine, Professor . . ." He glided his hand faster up and down their joined shafts. "You and I could be _this_ close together on that tee-ball field if only you'd agree . . ."

"Yesss!" Edward hissed and panted, pistoning his hips into Emmett's body. "Fuck, yessss!"

Emmett felt the tightening against his sac just before Edward exploded. The hot spray splashed up the length of Emmett's arm as Edward's head hinged back; his chin dropped, and the most glorious moan of ecstasy fell out of his mouth.

Emmett rushed to join his lover, burying his face in Edward's neck and hurrying his hand. Edward drew back with a grunt of protest, but Emmett was having none of that. "Hang on for me . . . almost there . . ."

"Oh God . . . too much . . . too much!" Edward pushed at Emmett's chest, but he wouldn't budge. "Come, you fucker!"

Emmett came hard, all the tension of the game and his talk with Trey shooting out of him in a mighty stream. Grabbing Emmett by the wrist, Edward wrenched his hand off their spent cocks, groaning in relief as he pushed Emmett's weight off him.

From a place deep inside his belly, a laugh bubbled up, and once Emmett got started, he couldn't stop. "Come, you _fucker_?" Tears welled in Emmett's eyes as he took in his normally reserved boyfriend's sheepish grin. "What . . . the _hell . . ._ was _that_?"

Edward shrugged, setting Emmett off again.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Emmett planted a kiss on Edward's cheek. "You said yes."

"What?"

"To me being on the field with you. You just said yes. 'Fuck yes' if my memory serves."

Edward's jaw dropped open. "That was a fuck yes to your dirty talk, not to reality! I cannot be held responsible for things said in the heat of passion!"

Emmett grinned at him, adding a tsk-tsk. "What would Sarek have to say about his fallen son, losing himself in the moment like a common human?"

Edward narrowed his eyes as he answered. "He would most likely say that one does not make logical decisions when one's penis is in the grasp of a ridiculously sexy pitcher."

Another ripple of laughter shook Emmett. "Oh god, you're a trip."

"Speaking of trips, someone needs to go get a towel. I look like an episode of CSI. Crap! My jersey!"

Emmett stood carefully so as not to drip on the couch. He pulled off his shirt and threw it at his cum-covered boyfriend. "It'll all come out in the wash."

Edward mopped up while Emmett looked on, offering him a hand up from the couch after he was reasonably clean. They gathered their clothes from the floor and stopped in the kitchen for a drink. "Wanna throw your clothes in my laundry?" Edward asked, tossing his wad of clothes in the hamper.

"Why, Professor, are you asking me to commingle our unmentionables?"

Edward handed him a bottle of water, adding a dramatic eye roll. "After what you just did to me?"

"Yes, that's true. Sure, I'm not afraid to commingle."

Grinning over at him, Edward replied, "Glad to hear it. And I really hope there are no hard feelings about the tee-ball thing. You do understand why I can't be trusted with you on the field, right?"

Emmett threw his arm around Edward's shoulders and walked him toward the bedroom. "Sure. It's your gig. I'll be a good boy and sit in the stands with the other spectators."

Edward gave him a wary look. "Mmhmm."

After the toothbrushing and rinsing and other going-to-bed tasks were done, they fell into bed on their "regular" sides with a pair of matching sighs. "Weren't we smart to do it out on the couch? Now you don't have to change the sheets."

Edward snorted. "I don't really mind washing the sheets."

"Huh, in that case . . ." Emmett sidled up behind him and lined his hips up with Edward's. "Oh, by the way . . . I came out to Trey tonight."

Edward whipped around so fast, he nearly broke off Emmett's dick. "You _what_?"

Emmett made room for Edward to flip onto his other side, facing him. "It's not as though I planned it. It just happened. We were alone in the locker room, and he was noticing how relaxed I've been lately, so he asked me if he had you to thank or the girl I've been fucking, basically."

"Holy shit! What did you say?"

"I told him you're the girl I've been fucking."

"Gee, thanks."

"I think you're missing the point. He now loves you twice as much."

"Oh." Edward's voice took on a highly amusing tone of joy that made Emmett grin into the dark. "Well, well, well. Look at you, coming out all over the place!"

"I know! It's crazy, right? Lately, the covering up just feels so much worse. And Trey would never tell anyone. He gets it."

"It's not crazy at all. I'm happy for you. It must've felt great to get that off your chest."

"It did."

"So how was he with the whole thing? Was it weird?"

"It was weirdly _un_-weird. I asked him if it made him uncomfortable, and he looked at me like I had six eyes. Oh, and I asked him for a happy ending on my massage." Emmett reached for Edward's dick, but his hand was batted away.

"Oh, no you don't. You can fuck me but you're not touching that again until further notice."

Emmett chuckled. "Fair enough."

"'Night, Sixty-nine."

"'Night, Professor."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Will you just look at Emmett, coming out all over the place? *grins* Oh, and hello, _Benched_.

I really love hearing from you guys. I'm still writing away, incorporating many of the moments you guys have asked about in addition to a few of my own. One thing is certain: this story would not have been the same if I'd written it in a vacuum. Also, I'd be done by now. But that's cool! I love spending time with these two...and you crazy kids, of course!  
**XXX ~BOH**


	36. Chapter 36

**XXX CHAPTER 36 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Rally beards! **

In a weak moment last night, Edward confessed his fondness for Emmett's beard, hence today's tweet. The facial hair wouldn't have bothered Emmett at all if only he could have tamed it a bit. After all, late-October nights _were_ cooler. Living with baseball's moral equivalent of Mother Teresa, though, Emmett didn't dare trim the damn thing until the end of the Series or—God forbid—sooner if they got knocked out of the playoffs.

For his part, Emmett had a love-hate relationship with the bushy, red beard sprouting from Edward's chin like a copper wire scrub sponge. On the one hand, Emmett loved that fresh-faced, clean-shaven, brilliant-but-innocent genius vibe Edward pulled off. At the same time, there was something appealing about Edward's team spirit, and though the ZZ Top look wasn't exactly Emmett's idea of sexy, it was kind of nice to have that extra handle to grab onto while Edward was riding him, and that wasn't all bad.

Emmett grinned as he typed his message. **Yes, I am particularly fond of the way yours tickles my asshole while you're rimming me.**

A sharp tweak of his nipple pulled Emmett's attention to the naked man lying beside him in bed. Edward's eyes were blocked by the phone he was busy tapping, but his smile was too wide to hide. **Take your head out of your ass for once!**

**Fine. I'd much rather have my head buried in your ass. :)**

**Promises promises…**

_Enough with the phone play_. Emmett climbed on top of Edward, tossing both their phones across the bed. "Grab a condom, Paul Bunyan."

Swaying to one side and tipping the big man on top of him, Edward reached for the drawer of his nightstand. "Does that make you Babe, babe?"

Emmett grinned, stroking his morning wood. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been called an ox."

"No, I imagine not," Edward said with a chuff. "You do know the animal's outstanding characteristic, right?"

"Of course. Strength."

"Try stubbornness." Edward lifted his hips, jostling Emmett as he attempted to roll the condom down his shaft.

"Hey! You don't want me to get you pregnant, do you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Edward said, grinning up at him. "I think our baby might look kind of cute, popping out with a little black or red beard."

"And what if it's a girl?"

Edward squeezed a glop of lube onto Emmett's tip. "Then I guess we'll be investing in electrolysis?"

"Just for that, you can stretch out your own damn hole," Emmett said, settling back on his haunches between Edward's legs.

The professor knew an act when he saw it; Emmett loved to watch Edward get ready for him. Coating his fingertips with lube, Edward opened his legs wide and worked his fingers into place. Emmett watched with greedy eyes while Edward's fingers disappeared inside. Edward laid it on thick, moaning and writhing, teasing poor Emmett until he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Out of the way! Make room for Babe."

Edward grinned as he moved his hand away. "Is this our new reality now? You're gonna call your penis 'Babe'? I don't know if I can keep a straight face."

"When have I ever asked you to keep a straight face?" Emmett lined up and nudged his tip inside. Pulsing forward with small, gentle strokes, he dropped forward to kiss Edward. "My beard missed your beard." Their mouths connected with loud, deep kisses as Emmett thrust inside, and Edward's hips rocked up to meet him.

After nearly four months of learning each other's rhythms, Emmett recognized Edward's deepening grunts as a dead giveaway and responded by pushing up onto his hands to carve out longer, deeper strokes. Edward ran his fingers reverently across Emmett's chest, rolling his palms over the pitcher's shoulders. Edward had that glazed look in his eyes, telling Emmett exactly where his partner's thoughts had wandered.

"I'm going to pitch my heart out tonight, and you'll be right there in the stands, cheering me on, won't you?"

"Yes!" Edward responded by squeezing his thighs around Emmett's hips, drawing him closer.

"You and your goddamn sexy lumberjack beard," Emmett said. "You need a flannel shirt with my name on the back."

"Your name's . . . . _uh ._ . . underneath . . . _gah_ . . . against my skin . . . _ahhh!"_

"I like that. All mine. Just like this beard"—Emmett flexed his elbows and lowered himself to Edward's mouth—"and these lips are all mine."

Edward looped his hands behind Emmett's neck, locking them together while Emmett thrust them both into oblivion. Emmett collapsed onto Edward's chest and nuzzled into his partner's neck. It didn't take long for Edward's fingers to migrate from Emmett's hair to the growth on his face. "Enjoy it while you can," Emmett said, smiling into the nails scratching at his sideburns.

"You've got to keep some of it at least. It's too sexy to waste."

Bargaining chips were rare with Edward; he wanted for almost nothing. It was frustrating and flattering as hell. Emmett latched on to his rare chance.

"I'll keep my beard if you let me be your assistant coach."

Edward's fingernails stopped. "No tee-ball for you. _Especially_ with this beard. You might as well post a neon sign over the field: Emmett and Edward Forever. No, no, nuh, nuh, noooo. No!"

"So, does that mean you'll think about it?" Emmett tickled Edward behind his ear, smirking when Edward turned to glare at him.

Edward exhaled, a parent's long-suffering sigh. "I'm not going to be the one to out you. Don't ask me to work under inhumane conditions. A person can only be so strong!"

"Aww, shit. You're a pussycat, you know that?" Emmett kissed the pouty lips between Edward's mustache and beard. "I appreciate you every day. I want you to know that. I know it sucks in a million different ways that we have to keep this quiet, and I just want to tell you, I think you're awesome for putting up with all my shit."

"You're lucky you're hot."

Emmett chuckled at the grumpy expression Edward was working so hard to hold onto. "I'm lucky _you're_ hot."

"Huh, probably not. We could've gone right on just being friends, and you wouldn't have all this turmoil in your life."

Grasping Edward's beard in his hand, Emmett held him in place. "Listen up, Professor. All kidding aside, I fell for you before I ever saw your kiss-me-harder lips or your follow-me-to-my-bedroom eyes or that fuck-me-again-why-don't-you little ass of yours. You got me with your heart, okay? The rest is gravy—smooth, rich, hot gravy—but the truth is, none of that would've mattered."

By the shade of Edward's blush, Emmett figured maybe he'd gotten through to the man, once and for all.

"So, does this mean you'll stop pestering me about tee-ball?"

There was only one answer Emmett could possibly give that face. "Fine."

Edward's smile returned, and he ran his palms up and down along Emmett's cheeks. "And maybe think about keeping the beard? Or at least some serious five o'clock shadow?"

"I'll think about it."

Edward grasped Emmett's unruly sideburns and covered his mouth with a kiss. "Now go win me that pennant."

XXX

Emmett was attempting to sit still in Trey's massage chair when Fuller threw the closing strike. The Safeco crowd erupted outside the locker room door, and Emmett jumped up and threw his arms over his head in celebration, sending the ice sling clattering to the floor.

Trey chuckled as he wrapped two cautious arms around Emmett's shoulders and slapped him on the back. "Congratulations, Mac! You just won the goddamn pennant!"

"_We_ did." Emmett gripped Trey around his waist as the first tear broke loose. "Couldn't have done it without you, man."

The arms holding Emmett in place tightened in acknowledgment before Trey released him. "I'm guessing there's someone you want to call?"

Emmett nodded, checking the locker room door for the imminent stampede. "Better hurry!" Trey backed out of the trainers' room and closed the door with a knowing grin.

Edward's message was waiting for Emmett when he turned on his phone.

**SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU! KNEW YOU COULD DO IT! YOU WON THE PENNANT!**

If Edward was sitting in the stands—and where the hell else would he be right now?—there was no way he'd be able to hear Emmett, but he took a chance and called anyway.

"Holy shit! You did it!" Edward's exclamation points jumped through the phone.

"I had to! You told me to win it for you."

"I can't hear a damn thing. The crowd is going nuts out here! I didn't see you in the dugout. Did you go inside?"

"Yes, Coach sent me inside. I watched in the locker room with Trey."

"Did you say 'Trey'?"

_That he heard._ "Gonna text you."

"I can't hear you. Text me!"

**Hey.**

**HEY! How's your arm? 65 fastballs tonight. **

**I'm fine. Gotta do the whole team thing for a bit. You know how it is.**

**No worries. Enjoy your moment. I'll see you when I see you.**

**Thanks for understanding.**

**Just tell me where and when. Mine or yours?**

**Might be after 1. Still want me?**

**YES! ALWAYS. I'll sleep when I'm dead. **

**You won't be cranky to your morning classes? I'll feel guilty.**

**My kids know I'm a die-hard Mariners fan. They'll understand if I stay up late celebrating.**

**Oh is THAT what the kids are calling it these days? ;) **

**Something like that. You coming to me?**

**Yes. Go to bed. I'll wake you up.**

**Promise?**

**Of course. Isn't that why you gave me your key?**

**Yep. Hey, you know what this means?**

**We go to the World Series?**

**10 more days of #MacBeard. :)**

**Not if we sweep!**

**Take your time. Beat them slowly.**

**Thanks for the great advice, Coach.**

**You drinking tonight?**

**Just a beer or two.**

**If you're tired or you feel like drinking more, just shoot me a text. Stay safe. I'll understand.**

**I know you would, but I'll be there.**

The words they'd never said to each other were sitting right there on the tip of Emmett's fingers, their absence on both sides of the conversation creating a palpable presence in the empty spaces.

_Love you._

XXX

Emmett slipped the key in the lock, tiptoed inside, and dead-bolted the door behind him. The weekend with Edward had been an oasis for both of them and the win a giddy endpoint, but the reality was that Edward had to get up at 6:30 for work. Emmett would've felt guilty waking him at 2:15 if he didn't honestly believe Edward would've gladly stayed up all night to "celebrate" with him.

Emmett could afford to be selfish for another couple weeks. After that, baseball season would be over, and Emmett could figure out how to be the kind of boyfriend who gave rather than took. He might even get his ass to the grocery store now and then. Only for Edward.

As he approached the bedroom, Emmett heard the familiar voices of the TV announcers calling the game. Shaking his head, he walked into the room. Edward was wide awake, propped up on a pile of pillows, arms folded behind his head, and a giant grin on his face.

"You're a nut. What are you doing?"

"Watching you."

Emmett stalked toward the bed, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on the floor. "I'm over here."

For one comical moment, Edward's gaze darted back and forth between the live and recorded Emmetts. "I've got you in stereo."

Emmett crawled across the bed, pulled down the covers until Edward was fully exposed, and planted a line of kisses up the inside of Edward's leg. "Can that guy do this?"

Playing along, Edward glanced at the television. "I would have to guess so. He looks pretty hot. Look, he's about to strike out Hardy."

Flopping down between Edward's legs, Emmett turned to watch his final pitch of the sixth inning. "Huh, ninety-six miles per hour. Not bad," he said. "But can he do _this_?" Emmett flipped over and opened his mouth around Edward's hardening cock. In no time, he had him as stiff as the bedpost.

Edward answered with a groan, grasping Emmett's hair with both hands. "C'mere, sixty-nine."

Emmett lifted his head. "You talking to me? Because if you want to be alone with your TV . . ."

The TV was turned off, the remote tossed to the floor. Emmett shimmied out of his clothes while positioning himself over Edward's mouth. This was the moment he'd been looking forward to on the ride over, their favorite way to play. Emmett was revved and exhausted all at once, and Edward had the secret formula of tongue and teeth and fingers to draw him out. If he didn't know better, Emmett might think the professor had developed a secret formula using Emmett's energy level, arousal factor, and some ratio of good pitches to bad—the guy was voodoo.

_Jesus, now he's got _me_ thinking in stats during sex!_

The cock filling his mouth was more than enough to occupy Emmett's available mental capacity, and he set all his concentration on pleasing his partner. Edward would be thinking about the hand that won the pennant, so Emmett gave him a little extra grip and twist on each stroke. And that beard Edward loved so much? Emmett swept the wild thicket along Edward's balls on each downward trip.

Edward responded by humming against Emmett's ass, his tongue working frantically inside while his hands took care of the rest. The two were playing a familiar game of chess; at first, a pawn was sacrificed for a pawn, then a rook for a rook. But now, the stakes were higher. Queens and kings were in jeopardy; who would fall first? This was a game Edward usually won and Emmett happily conceded, but tonight, Emmett was determined to hang on. Maybe the challenge of his alter ego had gotten to him, but Emmett McCarty was a man who knew how to rise to the occasion.

He'd toss in some filthy talk; that always worked. A little reminder of his hundred-mile-per-hour fastball to Cruz would have Edward popping his nut in no time, but that would require taking his mouth off the subject at hand, so to speak, and Emmett opted for Plan B instead. Sucking his middle finger into his mouth, Emmett reached around and pressed against Edward's taint, sliding his finger slowly but surely into his hole. Edward moaned and opened his legs. _Attaboy. _

Meanwhile, the pressure was building at the other end as the two battled to the finish. The first tang of Edward's release hit the back of Emmett's throat as the flutter in Emmett's belly turned into an unstoppable thunder. Edward writhed beneath him, filling Emmett's mouth with his release while pumping and gliding his fist along Emmett's shaft with increased determination. Emmett swallowed in that final second before he lost control and came fast and hard on Edward's chest.

When Edward's alarm went off at 6:30, Emmett found himself feet-to-headboard but under the twisted covers with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. Emmett yawned and squinted at his boyfriend. "Did you get any rest?"

"Shh, go back to sleep." Edward dropped a kiss on Emmett's cheek as he shuffled out of bed.

Emmett squinted through tired eyes, unable to resist the sight of Edward's backside heading toward the shower. With a huge smile on his face, Emmett flipped himself around, stretched out in the middle of the bed, fluffed Edward's pillow, pulled the covers up to his chest, and watched Edward get ready for work in the dim light of the bathroom. "You don't have to be quiet. I'm not going back to sleep until you leave."

Edward shook his head and laughed. "Suit yourself." Edward moved through his bedroom with Emmett's eyes on him. Emmett caught him peeking at him in the mirror as Edward tied his tie, and he gave him a little wave.

"You act like you've never seen a guy get dressed before."

Emmett guffawed. "To be honest, you might be the only one. I don't think I ever stuck around long enough."

Edward grabbed a pair of socks from the drawer and sat down next to Emmett on the bed. "Okay watch. First I slide one foot in . . . and then, the other. Pretty exciting, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

"For my next trick, I'm going to tie my shoes."

"I can't wait."

Edward's head shook the whole way to the closet as he bent over to grab his shoes. "Did you hear any of the commentary last night on your way over here?"

"Why would I listen to talk radio when I have you?"

Not sure whether to take him seriously, Edward plopped down onto the bench just outside his closet. Pulling on the first shoe, he nonchalantly said, "They're talking Cy Young, Em."

"Is that right?"

Edward smiled. "I know you have your eye on the World Series right now, but that would be huge. I think you've got it. With your ERA and strikeout stats, the no-hitter and the perfect game—"

Emmett cleared his throat. "Not perfect game."

"Whatever," Edward said, fully dressed and heading for the door. "You've got this."

"Aren't you gonna say a proper goodbye?"

Edward eyed him suspiciously. "You're not gonna muss me all up, are you?"

"I thought about it, but no. I don't want you to get in trouble with your mean boss."

Edward approached the bed cautiously, leaned over, and dropped a kiss on Emmett's head. "Have a great day today, Mac. Enjoy your time in the sun."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Looks like Big Mac is headed to the World Series. Who knew? Oh wait, ALL OF YOU! :) I can't say I'm a fan of the baseball beards per se, but I do love me some team spirit! Check out the patch for the rally beard illustration.

Time again to thank my support staff, who put up with my totally random chapter spewing and erratic vacation schedule and somehow manage to get their eyeballs through the story and wrangle this words into submission. **Jayme, Shell, Shad, LadyV, sometimes Tammy, and always Chayasara**, thank you all.

And here's something cool. Reviews on _Wild Pitch_ are about to kick **over the 2000 mark,** which is pretty cool for a slash story, so THANK YOU to each and every one of you who's left me a kind word. It seems each chapter I hear from a brand new reviewer, which is very exciting for me, considering all the damn chapters of all the damn stories I've posted. If you haven't read the **Meet the Mate** contest entries and voted yet, better get yourself over there soon! (Search on author name MeetTheMate for the 80 entries!) Did I forget anything? Hee hee!

**XXX~BOH**


	37. Chapter 37

**XXX CHAPTER 37 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: Turning over my #whatiloveaboutbaseball tweets to Emmett McCarty during World Series. Today's tweet, ɸbigmac69**

**_Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball: The excitement of the Series.  
The summer's field whittled from 30 to 2, soon to be one victor._**

"I don't understand why they didn't start you tonight. You could've started games one and four, even seven if the Series goes that far, and you still could've been in the bullpen for late innings in between. Now you have to dig the team out of a hole instead of leading off with a win."

Emmett sighed into the phone. "Your faith in me really is extraordinary. The Giants were tough tonight, Edward. I don't know that I would've fared any better than Hernandez."

"Bullshit!" Edward's outburst bounced off the walls of Emmett's car, echoing his own frustration.

It wasn't just that they'd lost tonight. Emmett wasn't slated to start until game three in San Francisco, and Edward wouldn't be there to see it. If the Mariners didn't turn this ship around quickly enough, that might well be Emmett's one and only World Series appearance.

"Edward, I just pitched two nights ago. You know Coach wouldn't risk blowing out my shoulder."

Edward's answer was quiet, repentant. "I know. I'm sorry. Logic is failing me right now, and I shouldn't be venting to you, of all people."

"It's okay. I get it. We'll just have to hope we can pull off the win tomorrow night, and I'll do what I can to rest up for Friday in San Fran."

It was Edward's turn to sigh. "I don't suppose I can see you tomorrow night before you board the bus."

"I don't see how. We go straight from the press conference to the airport."

"Yeah, okay. Listen, you know I'm here for you, day or night, anytime. I don't want to be in your way or distract you."

"I know. I'll come straight to your place when we touch down from San Francisco." Emmett didn't voice what they were both thinking—his season might be over at that point.

"Sounds good. I love it when you wake me up in the middle of the night."

Emmett chuckled, remembering the last time. Was it his fault he got worked up on the long drive from Sea-Tac to Renton? Whatever. That would teach Edward to sleep on his stomach!

"Have a sexy dream about me, Professor."

"Always, sixty-nine."

XXX

**_Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball: The camaraderie of the team.  
The higher the stakes, the more we come together._**

**How was the mood in the locker room after your big win?**

**Relief. Hitting the road 0 and 2 would've been depressing.**

**Definitely. Fly safe, Em.**

**Will do. Where are you watching the game tomorrow?**

**With my folks. Couldn't possibly inflict myself on anyone else.**

Emmett chuckled to himself, picturing Edward screaming at his TV, pulling on his hair, pacing . . . He was right; it wasn't a pretty picture. **Hang in there, Prof.**

**Call me if you need to talk. I'm free at lunch and 6****th**** period (1:38-2:28).**

**I have your schedule in my phone.**

**Yes, I know, but last week you texted me five times during my Honors class. I had to take my phone out of my pants.**

**Just trying to shake things up a bit.**

**I'll be shaky enough this week, thanks very much.**

Only Edward could get more worked up than the actual teams about the Series. Emmett wished he could give him a hug and a "There, there." **Give your rally beard…and other parts...a good tug for me. Positive thoughts.**

**You know it, Mac. **

XXX

Adrenaline still lighting up Emmett's system, he sank into his seat on the bus and closed his eyes—finally. Not that Emmett had particularly minded talking in the locker room about tonight's win with every reporter who stuck a microphone near his face, but the relative quiet of the ride back to the hotel gave him a chance to digest the victory. The guys were fired up but cautious after the win; a two-one lead meant little in a best-of-seven series, they knew, and the Mariners had two hard nights ahead of them at AT&amp;T Park.

Emmett's phone buzzed again, and he pulled it from his pocket. **128 text messages **and climbing right before his eyes. Thumbing through screen after screen of messages, Emmett scanned the pre-game well wishes, chuckling at the creativity of some of his friends. Baseballs and bats, beards and peanuts . . . scroll, scroll . . . Mom, Dad, Jasper, Alice . . . UCLA teammates and former coaches . . .

Losing patience, Emmett abandoned the fruitless scrolling and typed in Edward's name in the search bar at the top. The screen populated with at least forty messages from Edward, starting with the very first pitch.

**Looking good, Mac. I'm referring to your pitching form here. Then again, the rest looks mighty fine too.**

**You own that field! Way to strike out Belt and Hudson! Keep it up! So proud of you!**

**I'm buying Saunders a crate of Cubans for catching that fly ball.**

**BALL? NFW! You HAD him, Mac! #getsomeglassesump!**

The blow-by-blow continued, keeping a grin on Emmett's face as he relived every controversial call and every sweet strikeout through the eyes of his number one fan.

**Mom's freaking out here—worse than me! Look out, Big Mac…you have a new admirer! You thought I was bad? HA!**

**OMG she's yapping about how cute your buns look in your uniform. NO! And every time they zoom in on your face, she's all about the "piercing blue eyes"! I might have to leave.**

**Remind me to ask what you and Seaver were talking about in the 5****th****. Didn't look like meat loaf recipes!**

**Love watching you in the dugout, surrounded by your teammates. You look like you're having the time of your life. I hope you are, Em. You deserve this.**

**WHAT? TERRIBLE CALL! **

_How much fun would it be to someday go to a game with Edward and experience firsthand the complete emotional undoing of Spock? _

_Another "off-they-go-into-the-sunset" moment brought to you by endorphins and fatigue. Oh, Mac. You're turning into a sappy fool. _A sap who wanted desperately to speak to his boyfriend right now.

**Ha! Think you can steal a base while my man is on the mound? Think again, Pence!**

**Two down, one to go…**

**You're glorious, baby. GLORIOUS.**

**Uh oh. Here comes the hook…you were fantastic tonight, from the edge of your beard to the tips of your teal shoes. Thanks for bringing the Series back to Safeco! I'm blocking out the 28****th**** and 29****th**** and planning a light lesson plan for the week. Did I tell you we're doing a unit on baseball stats?**

**Call me if you want to talk. Don't worry about the time. You know I'll be watching the video for hours.**

At least the powers that be had sprung for separate hotel rooms for the duration of this last road trip of the season. One player's demons were enough to quiet at night; put two together, and there might not be any sleep to be had. Emmett closed his eyes and locked the highlights of the game into his memory; tonight was an experience to remember, and with at least two more games to play, chances were good that he hadn't yet thrown his last pitch of the season.

As they pulled into the circular driveway of the Marriott Courtyard to unload, Coach congratulated the team one more time. "Now, we all know some of you need more beauty sleep than others, not mentioning any names, Miller." He paused for the predictable chuckles while Miller took his razzing. "Let's not forget, boys, we've been training for this all summer. The Series is a marathon, not a sprint. We have to pace ourselves."

Emmett covered his mouth with the back of his hand and chuckled to himself. He could so clearly visualize Edward running next to him, then out in front of him to slow him down.

"Let's all be good for five more days, and then you can let loose—responsibly, of course," Coach added, when the sniggers bubbled up all around him, "but tonight, ignore whatever is waiting in the lobby bar and just go to bed, guys—alone."

One or two guys would probably be idiots; that pull of _I might not be here again _could be somewhat irresistible, and they wouldn't let the opportunity slip through their fingers. With any luck, they wouldn't have their picture taken in some compromising position or pull a muscle doing some crazy Kama Sutra move. Normally, Emmett might make a pass through the danger zones and grab a younger player by the arm before he found himself in too deep, but not tonight. Emmett had a man waiting for him in bed—not _Emmett's_ bed but the next best thing.

Emmett exercised admirable restraint, or so he thought, waiting to call Edward until after he'd washed and brushed and tucked himself into bed. Edward answered the phone with a contented hum.

"Did I wake you?"

Scratchy with sleep, Edward's voice was even sexier than usual. "I might've dozed off, but I wanted you to call. I want to know how it feels."

"Probably the same as yours, big boy. Soft on the outside, hard as steel on the inside. Want to compare notes?"

Edward burst out laughing. "Are you rubbing one out right now?"

"I wasn't, but you're making me kind of horny now."

"You were born horny. Don't blame me."

"So . . . Speaking of horny, Mrs. C has the hots for me now?"

Edward groaned. "I told her I'm not sharing, but she now claims you are her type. You should've seen Dad's eye roll."

"I can imagine," Emmett said with a chuckle. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"I was wrecked by the end. The highs, the lows . . . I don't know how you guys can stand it."

"What happened to Mr. Logical? We hit the post-season, and Spock left the stadium."

"Oh, all bets are off during the Series." Edward's voice was dead serious. "And with you on the mound? Forget it! Dad was standing by to administer CPR."

Emmett was getting caught up in the scene, grinning as he pictured the family drama playing out in front of the Cullens' giant screen. "I wish I could've watched it with you."

"That would've been a good trick!"

"Are you going back to their house for the next two games?"

"Nah, I'll probably stop at Sluggers after work, toss down a few beers, and watch with other fans. It's just that when you're pitching, I can't imagine not giving myself away. Shit! They might put you in tomorrow or Sunday! Maybe I shouldn't venture out."

"Relax. Coach said he wouldn't play me tomorrow, so you're safe. Sunday, I will be in the bullpen, so who knows? Depending on how things go, they might save me for a game seven start."

"Holy shit! How exciting would that be?"

Emmett sighed. He'd never get to sleep if he started thinking about that. "I know. Crazy, huh?"

"Yep."

"So, Edward . . ."

"So, Emmett . . .?"

"Speaking of rubbing one out . . ."

XXX

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball #BigMacTweetsfromtheSeries**

**_Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball:  
_****_The quick release of the ball when you throw to first and pick off a runner._**

The Mariners got crushed on Saturday, bringing the Series to two games apiece. Sunday night, nothing was working. You could almost feel the panic in the dugout. _We're losing our lead, digging ourselves a hole. _The Giants picked up a pair of early-game runs, the kind that creep up on a pitcher one batter at a time. Coach put Emmett in for two innings at the bottom of the fifth, and though Emmett held his own on defense, the Mariners couldn't buy a run. Emmett watched helplessly as the Giants took game five in a five-nothing shutout.

The plane ride home after the game was somber, to say the least. The coaching staff rode up front, reviewing mistakes, plotting strategies for the last two games at Safeco. Emmett was a bundle of nerves. He wanted to pitch again; he knew damn well his only chance might be game six, but even if the Mariners pulled out the win, the deciding game would be left to Hernandez. If they saved Emmett for game seven, there might not be a game seven. And, of course, there was always the possibility that Emmett could lose though he rarely allowed his thoughts to stray toward that particular neighborhood.

Far from the conquering hero returning home to enjoy the spoils of war, Emmett drove to Edward's a weary soldier returning home with battle scars deep beneath the skin. For the first time in a long time, Emmett debated whether he should even head to Edward's or just go home to deal with his nerves in private. Edward had certainly seen Emmett in periods of anxiety, but this wasn't the side he relished sharing with his partner.

Tiptoeing through Edward's kitchen, Emmett willed the hardwood floors not to creak under his weight. Lighted by the soft glow of the nightstand lamp, Edward lay face-down on top of the covers in nothing but the briefest—_Dat ass!_—of fire-engine-red briefs, legs bent at an unnatural angle, one arm extended over an abandoned book. Emmett couldn't tell if he'd been trying to stay awake or trying to fall asleep, but the result was the same.

Gently replacing the book—_The Art of Pitching_, Emmett acknowledged with an inner chuckle—to its place on the nightstand, Emmett turned off the light, undressed quietly, and climbed onto the bed without jostling Edward awake.

His willpower at an all-time low, Emmett crawled straight toward Edward's briefs, curling his fingers over the edge of the waistband and sliding them down over the greatly missed humps of flesh. Without warning, Emmett drew a sloppy, wet line with his tongue between the juicy cheeks he was holding open.

Edward stirred and let out low moan. "'Zat you, Em?"

Emmett bit back the first response that popped into his head:_ Are there many other men who enter your apartment at 2:30 in the morning to lick your asshole?_ Instead, he answered, "Shh, you're dreaming, baby." Because he couldn't resist, Emmett pinched Edward's ass cheek. "See? Go back to sleep."

Edward feigned sleep, playing along as usual with Emmett's latest game, but the smile in his voice gave him away. "Best dream ever."

Emmett was hard and wanting, five long days away from his lover catching up with him now that he had no other distractions. As he thrust his tongue into Edward's hole, Emmett's hips matched the rhythm of Edward's, now pumping against the mattress.

Edward surprised him, suddenly clambering onto all fours and opening for him, but it was Edward's raw request in the dark that caught Emmett totally off guard. "Fuck me, Mac."

Emmett rose to his knees and gave Edward a light slap on the ass. "Condom."

When Edward didn't move, Emmett's heart skipped a beat. A shaky voice responded, "What are we waiting for, Emmett? We're both clean. Fuck me like this . . . _please._"

On top of the emotionally exhausting road trip, Edward's unexpected plea deprived Emmett of his last ounce of willpower. He grabbed Edward's hips, leaned forward, and dropped a soft kiss in the middle of his back. "Okay, baby, if you're sure."

Whether Edward craved the intimacy for himself or whether he was pushing the issue for his partner's sake, Emmett was extraordinarily grateful and far too tired to overthink it. He slicked up his shaft and spent a few more minutes preparing Edward before entering him for the first time without a barrier. Pushing cautiously through the ring of muscle, Emmett let go as the new sensations took hold of him. _So hot. So tight. I am right here touching your insides._

Edward pushed himself up, circling his arms up and over Emmett's head, locking his back against Emmett's chest as they moved together as one. Emmett reached around and grabbed Edward's leaking cock with one hand, gripping his hip tighter with the other.

Edward matched each of Emmett's thrusts with a grunt and an invitation for more. Emmett pushed further inside, the once familiar act surprising Emmett with its novelty. Tonight was not about longevity; this was connection, intimacy on a level the two had not explored before, knowing each other from the inside out in a way Emmett had never allowed himself to be known by any other lover.

Nipping his teeth at Edward's ear lobe, Emmett whispered a desperate, "Come with me, baby." Edward rode him harder, grunting on each downstroke as he swallowed Emmett's shaft inside him.

Emmett's orgasm hit like an electrical storm—lightning flashing before his eyes as the thunder rolled through, shaking them both to the core. Emmett was vaguely aware of Edward's hand gripping his, the two of them pumping Edward's shaft until ribbons of hot cum coated their joined fingers.

Their grunts died back into breathy sighs, and a benevolent silence opened up around them as they swayed together ever so slightly on bent knees. Emmett nestled his nose into the base of Edward's neck while his brain quieted down.

When Emmett finally pulled out, Edward spun into his arms and kissed him. What normally amounted to a post-pop, perfunctory goodnight kiss took on a life of its own. A seismic shift had just taken place in their relationship; kissing was their way of processing the new connection. The kisses tapered off with a few departing pecks on the lips. Emmett would've collapsed into the pillows if Edward had not caught his face with both hands.

"Em?" Edward's soft breath tickled Emmett's whiskers.

"What?"

"I . . . didn't want to say this after you won the Series and have you think . . ."

It had been a while since Edward had tortured him with one of his famous unfinished statements, but the terror returned in full force. "Say what? Think what?" _Jesus, if Edward didn't speak soon, Emmett was gonna—_

"But I really do need to tell you before the next game . . . _shit._"

Emmett's brain was short circuiting. Was Edward breaking up with him? After _that_? _Now? _"Dammit, Edward, say what you need to say!"

"I was only gonna say . . . I love you, Emmett."

With a huge sigh of relief, Emmett grabbed Edward around the waist and pulled him down to the mattress. They landed with a messy _thwap_ of fluids and spent limbs. "I love you too, Professor, but if you're gonna scare me like that again, you better learn CPR because I swear my heart just stopped beating there for a minute."

Edward's smile was so wide, Emmett could see his teeth in the dim light seeping in around the shades. "You do?"

"Of course I do."

"Now I know I'm dreaming."

"Good night, Professor."

"'Night, sixty-nine."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, most of you guessed the ILY's were coming sooner rather than later. I pressed a few of you to guess who you thought would say it first. Of course, like most of the big moments of this story, my boys hijacked the chapter and did exactly what they wanted. Would I have guessed Edward would say it first? Probably not, to be honest. Especially during the Series. He took a huge risk there with Emmett's emotions. The poor guy simply could not help himself. Can you blame him? And for those of you who played, THANK YOU! I always love hearing your ideas and predictions!

I'd like to thank 2amlovesick for giving me the fantastic tweets (and more) from her own son's baseball repertoire. I had to write a few from Emmett just to include those! Looks like the boys have had their last road trip apart. *throws confetti* Now...can Emmett win us that Series? Not much suspense when you're writing the prequel, is there?

**XXX ~BOH**


	38. Chapter 38

**XXX CHAPTER 38 XXX**

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball #BigMacTweetsfromtheSeries**

**_Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball:  
_****_The tunnel vision found on the mound when facing the best hitter on the other team._**

Coach put his money where his mouth was, so to speak. Convinced the Mariners would pull out a game six win, he saved Mac to start game seven. The decision paid off in spades as Hernandez pulled in a ten-zip win in front of the home crowd. Too strung out to drive out to Edward's after the game, Emmett pulled out his phone to type an apology text.

Edward's message was waiting for him. **I'm taking tomorrow off—no way I could possibly focus on anything but your game. How about I come to the beach tonight? Or would you rather be alone?**

**I'm not sure I'm fit for human consumption. Enter at your own risk.**

Predictably unconcerned for his own welfare, Edward immediately answered, **I'll meet you outside your apartment. **

Emmett could not have said whether he was pleased or terrified at the news. He wasn't at all sure he could trust himself around other people, but what Emmett did trust was that Edward's slavish devotion would not falter no matter how awfully he behaved under the intense stress.

**I'll be there in 20. **

The elevator ride to Emmett's suite was not pleasant for either man. Edward's claustrophobia frustrated and embarrassed him especially now, stuck inside his own head when he wanted nothing more than to be there for Emmett. For his part, refraining from holding Edward required energy Mac didn't have to spare.

Emmett stepped into his apartment first, jittery and wired. _This was a terrible idea._

As usual, Edward surprised him, bouncing back almost immediately after escaping the elevator. "I have a plan."

"Oh yeah? I really hope it involves boarding the express train to Brown Town."

Edward smirked. "As romantic as that sounds, that's not my plan."

_"_What's wrong? Got your period?"

"Nope."

"What gives, Professor? I can't remember the last time we took the night off."

Edward chuckled. "That's probably because we never have."

Despite himself, Emmett grinned. "You're keeping stats on our action?"

"Occupational hazard." Edward's grimace was comical, but where this conversation was heading was most definitely not the least bit amusing. "C'mon, Em. You need some distracting, and we both know my best chance lives in your shorts." Edward's gaze drifted to Emmett's crotch, which was beginning to sense the cold front coming through the area.

"I don't think I like where this is going."

"You used to trust me."

"That was before you got the wise idea to send me out to the mound tomorrow with my plumbing all backed up! Is this some sports psychology voodoo you picked up in that Tom Seaver book you've been reading? I will burn that thing."

Edward grasped Emmett's forearm. "No, this isn't from any book, and relax. Of course I wouldn't send you off that way. It wouldn't even be safe!"

Narrowing his eyes at the professor, Emmett asked, "Then, what exactly are you proposing?"

Edward stepped closer and placed his palm on Emmett's chest. "A long, bumpy, adventurous ride to Brown Town."

Emmett felt a twitch inside his shorts. "Keep talking."

Edward's hand snaked across Emmett's shoulder, cupping the back of his neck. "First of all, we are going to have ourselves a whole lot of fun."

Emmett gave him a massive eye roll. "Speak for yourself."

"I was." Edward leaned in and closed his mouth over Emmett's, kissing away his pout. "Second, we're not going to allow that overactive brain of yours the chance to wander beyond the tip of your cock all night."

Edward's diabolical scheme was already working, but Emmett wasn't about to tell him so.

"And third, when your orgasm finally hits tonight, it is going to blow your mind so hard, you're going to sleep like the dead and wake up fully refreshed and ready to face the most important day of your life."

Emmett was intrigued but skeptical. Unless Edward had been keeping major secrets from him all this time, Emmett's mild-mannered math teacher was not particularly skilled in the dark art of orgasm denial. Emmett cupped Edward's chin and gazed into those deep green, smoldering eyes. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

A sheepish grin crossed Edward's face. "I might have done some research while you were away."

"Research, huh? You don't have a dissertation lying around here somewhere, do you? _Agitating the One-Eyed Monster: A Case Study of One Foolhardy Man Against the Force of Nature._"

Edward chuckled. "No—not exactly."

"Not _exactly_?"

"I have a few pages of notes, some bookmarked websites, and a thumb drive I wouldn't want my mother to see."

"You are something else, Professor." Emmett couldn't decide if he was flattered by the trouble Edward had clearly gone to on his behalf—par for the course—or just plain turned on. "As usual, I place myself in your more-than-capable hands."

Edward's face lit up. "Really?"

"You have yet to steer me wrong," Emmett said with a shrug. "Just go easy on the essential body parts, will ya? I don't want to have to explain to the Nintendo shareholders that I couldn't pitch the final game of the World Series because I dislocated my shoulder when my freak of a boyfriend tied me up too tight."

"I've already thought of that."

"Of course you have."

"I'm not tying you up at all—too risky. Do you have a couple of baseballs lying around?"

"What pitcher worth his cleats doesn't have a bucket of balls in his closet?"

"Lead the way, Mac."

XXX

Stripped naked and laid out spread-eagle on his back, Emmett already had a raging hard-on. Edward busied himself testing and retesting the slack in the leather ankle cuffs connected by a strap running beneath the mattress while Emmett flexed his toes and calculated his wiggle room.

"Don't forget my safe word," Emmett cautioned, a strong sense of what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking sending his heart rate into overdrive.

"Checkmate, got it. Here, keep your hands by your sides and squeeze the balls—"

"Ugh, did you have to put it like that?"

Edward chuckled, electrifying Emmett's entire system with the simple act of holding his wrists down. _Jesus, who knew this shit was so hot? _"That's it . . . just like that."

Emmett sucked down a deep breath and gazed up at Edward. "Aren't you gonna take off your clothes?"

Raising his eyebrows, Edward folded his arms across his chest. "That is none of your business."

"I think I've created a monster."

Edward glanced down at Emmett's erection. "Speaking of the one-eyed monster . . ." Strolling to Emmett's closet as if he had all the time in the fucking world, Edward riffled through Emmett's ties, settling on his royal blue checked tie with "UCLA" in gold lettering across the bottom. "This'll do."

Edward returned to the bed, purposely "accidentally" dragging the tail of the tie between Emmett's legs and over his aching cock._ He's enjoying this way too much,_ Emmett decided, just as the fabric covered his eyes.

"How's that? Too tight? I don't want to impede the blood flow to your head."

"Very fucking funny," Emmett snapped back

Edward's lips covered his, drawing Emmett's tongue into an unexpectedly tender kiss. Edward's voice was soft and silky near Emmett's ear. "It's okay to be turned on, baby. I am, too."

Heat rushed to Emmett's cheeks. He took a harsh gulp while reminding himself that he trusted this man implicitly. Running his tongue over his dry lips, Emmett nodded without speaking.

"Need some water?"

"No," Emmett said, adding a belated "Thank you."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything." Edward chuckled, startling Emmett by running a hand down his chest, stopping short around his belly button. "Anything at all."

Emmett flexed his hips in frustration.

"Squeeze the balls, take a few deep breaths, and try to relax."

There was a rustling, the soft swish of clothing being removed, the gentle dip of the mattress beside him, bare flesh pressing into Emmett's side. A hand on his cock. _Thank the fucking lord!_

Up. Up. Up.

_DOWN! Go down!_

Up. Up. Up. Nothing.

"Ungh!"

The soft swipe of a wet tongue on his nipple. Goosebumps. Teeth. Tongue. Air. Nothing.

"Nnnn!"

"Shh, baby. Easy does it." A finger sweeping across Emmett's lower lip. Nibbles at the shell of his ear.

A slicked up hand on his cock. _Yessss! _Up, down. _Fuck, yeah! _Up, down. Squeeze, slide, glide. Up, down, up, down, up, down . . . _Oh GOD!_

Nothing.

A grunt left Emmett's lips, the sound so primal and needy Emmett didn't recognize it as his own. Pumping his hips, Emmett met nothing but empty space. _Where are you, Edward? Take care of me!_

Mattress rocking. A hand on Emmett's chin. "Let me inside this sexy mouth."

Emmett opened without a thought, tasting the salty pre-cum as Edward pushed his tip inside.

"Mmm." Emmett lapped at him while Edward gently advanced and receded. Just the tip. In. Out. In. Out. Just enough to make Emmett's cock weep with jealousy.

Lying still was killing him; Emmett's fists closed hard around the baseballs so his hands didn't end up where he really wanted them—under Edward's ass cheeks.

"Thank you, baby," Edward said as he pulled away from Emmett's mouth. "Your turn now."

Grasped by its balls, his cock stood upright. The soft flutter of a tongue teased at his tip, scrambling Emmett's brain as he attempted to reconcile the gentle sweep at the tip with the tight squeeze at the base. The tongue lapped lower, longer, more. Swallowed by warm lips, a moist mouth. Down. Up, down. Up, down.

Emmett strained in his ankle cuffs; firm hands pressed his hips to the bed. _You're not in control here, Mac._ He squeezed the balls, took a deep breath, let it out.

The blowjob picked up in pace. Slippery lips, the gentlest hint of teeth, a tight grip along the shaft. Up, down.

"Feels so fucking good!" Emmett's head thrashed side to side as if the motion would keep Edward sucking, pumping.

The mouth opened and moved off. Hands sank to the base and lower, cupping his balls, squeezing, holding, gone.

Emmett let out an exasperated sigh, but this time, there was no comfort given, no assurances Edward would be back.

Edward's cock was at Emmett's lips again, more insistent this time. _Innnn, out. Innnn, out._ Hands in Emmett's hair, tugging, having their way like the cock in his mouth.

Emmett's hips lifted on the in strokes, ghost fucking because that was all he could get. He wouldn't beg; he wouldn't safe word. He couldn't even remember his own name.

_Touch me, lick me, fuck me, suck me._

The cock retracted again. "Water?" Edward asked.

"Nuh-uh." _Don't leave. Don't stop._

"Can you behave yourself if I suck you again?"

"Yes!" Emmett had no fucking clue if he could behave himself, but he'd say what he needed to say to get that mouth on him again.

_Lips, teeth, tongue. Mouth. Hands. Throat. Fuuuuuck!_

Emmett writhed in his bonds, groaning when the mouth pulled away. One hand slid to the base, holding tight enough to keep Emmett from losing his nut, while the other teased and tickled the tip. _Go. Stop. Gas. Brakes. _Emmett had never felt anything like this before.

"Oh, FUCK!"

_Remind me . . . why did I place my dick in the hands of a mad scientist?_

Balls freed, desire unleashed. Tension mounting again. Hands spread, one up, one down. Pressing that sensitive ridge, playing at his hole. And the professor's dirty, filthy mouth making him so horny, Emmett could've come from the words alone.

"I've never seen you so hard. Does this feel good, baby? Your cock looks so beautiful sliding through my fingers. Doesn't that feel _so good?"_

"Yesssss!" Emmett hissed and panted, rocking back and forth between the two hands as they pulled at him like some perverted taffy-stretching machine.

Emmett was close, closer than before. This was it! That flutter deep in his belly, the tingle in his thighs . . . Firm squeeze at his base until the feeling passed, then nothing.

Emmett sank into the mattress, exhausted and frustrated, hornier than he could ever remember. _How many more times could Edward put him through the wringer?_

_Infinity. That's how damn many._

Edward's lips were at his ear, smooth and sweet as cotton candy. Good cop, not the demon tormentor doing his bidding. "How we doing?"

"Any time now."

Edward chuckled at the grumpy growl. "Sorry, baby, it's not your bedtime yet."

"Are you the same person who said he loved me just the other day?"

Edward kissed him again, pulling back only enough to form words. "I sure am."

"Please don't leave me like this."

"I won't. I'm gonna take good care of you tonight. Promise."

"Define 'tonight.'"

When Edward answered, Emmett could hear the smile in his voice. "Sometime between now and 5 a.m."

Emmett groaned. "Get on with it, then."

And Edward did-about one hundred fifty million more times. _Push, pull. Start, stop. To the brink and back. _Over and over until Emmett was as wrung out and wasted as a jock strap after a double header. It had to be at least 1:30, Emmett figured wearily.

A slow drizzle of oil hit Emmett's tip; fingertips traced maddening circles around the glans. Fingers turned into a palm and then a tight fist. Pistoning up and down, up and down, slow and steady strokes, the pressure building like air pumped into a tire.

A giddy hope set in again, a testament to Emmett's optimistic spirit._ This is it! _Edward was finally going to polish his pole! Emmett's defenses fell away as instinct took over. Without his vision, Emmett had become expert at reading every subtle flick of Edward's wrist. _Up, down. Up, down._ _Pleasure. Just pleasure._

"Not enough . . . _more_." Emmett whimpered and bucked his hips for more friction with the greased up hands working his shaft. "Harder, baby, please! Need to come!"

A brick wall jumped out and slammed into Emmett's gut. All the happy, feel-good, slick-handed strokes . . . gone. In their place, the dreaded squeeze at the base! Emmett's knees drew up the few inches the cuffs would allow as a loud, angry groan escaped him. He released the baseball from his right hand and clasped the cock-blocking hand by the wrist until the pressure in his balls let up.

"Need something, baby?" Edward asked, the hint of a smile clear in his voice.

Emmett pushed out his answer through gritted teeth. "If you're not planning to finish me off in the next ten seconds, I strongly suggest you tie me down to this bed with steel cable for both our sakes."

"Someone is losing his sense of humor." Edward wriggled his wrist, but Emmett didn't loosen his grip.

"Very perceptive, Professor."

"Lemme see what I can do to help."

The baseball tapped at the back of Emmett's hand, and he took the hint and placed his hand back on the bed.

"Deep breath, baby," Edward said, all helpful now that the torture was about to end.

_Up, up, up. One hand, then the other, no breath in between. Tight grip, dooooowwwwn. _"Ahhh!" _And again. _Arousal snaked and coiled, but his cock wasn't ready to believe.

"Don't fight me." Edward set a tempo and stuck to it. _Up, down, up, down. _Predictable, reliable, trustworthy.

Fingers crawled across Emmett's abdomen, a tender counterpoint to the pistoning hand. The house of cards climbed toward the ceiling.

"Come on . . . let go."

Slippery, hot hands. Pressure. A hard cock rubbing against Emmett's thigh.

Emmett tossed the ball away and grabbed Edward's cock.

"Oh, shit, that feels good!" Edward grunted and thrust as Emmett jerked him.

"You waited for me." _Silly Professor_.

"I always wait for you. That's our deal."

"You're nuts."

"You wanna lie there and insult me or you wanna come?"

"I Want. To. Come! _Please_. Now!"

Emmett cupped a tight fist around Edward's cock, pumping him furiously in an effort to lead by example. _See how good that feels? Yes? DO IT TO ME! _The professor failed to take the bait. _His patience could be a real fucking problem sometimes_, Emmett reflected as his lover-torturer's hand produced a slow but insistent stroke. The tortoise slogged toward the finish line when all Emmett wanted was to be the damn hare. Emmett tugged and twisted the surrogate dick in his hand, but Edward wouldn't budge. The steady, rhythmic squish of lube underscored Emmett's grunts and cussing.

"Stay with me, Mac."

"Where the hell'm'I gonna go? I'm tied to the bed, remember?"

Though Emmett sounded frantic to his own ears, Edward responded with compassion and patience. "I remember. I've got you. It feels good, right?"

"Yes . . . just . . . more!"

"Easy, tiger. Easy."

Fingers trailed under Emmett's sac. The stroking continued; pressure mounted. Building blocks teetered on a too-high, too-fragile base.

Emmett toppled finally, hanging on to Edward's cock for dear life. Edward waited out his partner's orgasm before tactfully removing Emmett's vise-like grip from his groin and finishing himself off onto Emmett's stomach.

Emmett barely registered the soft swipe of a towel or the swish of the tie releasing his eyes from the darkness, but the unclasping of the Velcro cuffs roused him from his half-sleep.

"Sorry," Edward whispered as he tucked them both under the sheets. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Mmm." Emmett's voice was thick with drowsy bliss. "Where's my goodnight kiss?"

Edward chuckled as he covered Emmett's lips with his own.

Emmett reached for his lover in the dark, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. "Thank you, baby."

"Sleep well, sixty-nine."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Did anyone notice a little bit of Domward in da (pent)house? Hey, what can I say? Some fantasies die hard! I assume most of you have read my kinky stuff by now...You can all thank Shad for the explicit ending where I'd faded to a happy black. Sometimes, the girl just knows. Well, it looks like Mac is ready for the biggest day of his life! Are you? I need a week till I post the next one. You guys are too close! Mwah!

**XXX ~BOH**


	39. Chapter 39

**XXX CHAPTER 39 XXX**

"You sure you're okay to drive to the ballpark?" Edward had been observing Emmett all morning like a bug under a microscope, so his offer to drive came as no surprise.

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. Your little plan worked miracles, best night's sleep I've had in weeks . . . maybe ever."

Edward grinned, so proud of himself. "Sounds like we'll have to do that again soon."

Emmett grasped Edward's brassy beard and gave him a sexy kiss. "Absolutely. But next time, it's your ass strapped to the bed."

Edward blanched. "No rush, then."

"Whassa matter, baby? Don't you trust me?"

"In theory, yes, but Emmett McCarty with unlimited power? That's a scary concept!"

Emmett snuck in another kiss. "I don't think I can argue with your logic there, Mr. Spock."

Edward sighed. "I guess I better go. I have to wash my jersey. So . . . next time I see you, you're gonna be the MVP of the World Series."

"Or the most hated man in Seattle."

Edward grabbed him by the hips and yanked their bodies together. "No matter what happens on that mound tonight, people will love you. You're our Big Mac!"

"You've been nipping at the Kool-Aid again, haven't you?"

Glancing down at their joined crotches, Edward grimaced. "That was a little salty for Kool-Aid."

Emmett grinned and scratched his fingers through Edward's beard. "This lumbersexual thing was a fun detour, but I can't wait to see your face again."

"Hmm, yours is more 'I don't give a fuck about shaving because I know I'm hot as sin either way.' And you know how I feel about this subject."

"Maybe we can work out a compromise."

"Really?"

Emmett would never tire of the way he so effortlessly lit up Edward's face like a little kid getting his first red wagon. "Sure, I could do a little scruff, but it's gotta be neat. None of this wild forest business."

"Deal!" Edward slid his hands into Emmett's. "Play your heart out tonight, Em. You're the best there is, and after tonight, it'll be official."

"You know, you're the best cheerleader a guy could ever hope for."

"It's easy to cheer for you." Edward looked like he was about to say something else. "If you need me at any point, I'll have my phone in my hand."

Emmett smirked. "Gonna give me the color commentary again?"

"It's the next best thing to being there."

"Edward, I wish . . . god, this sucks so hard. I wish you could be there with me tonight."

Edward squeezed his hands. "I _am _with you. Now, go win the World Series, why don't you?"

"Okay. I'll text you as soon as I can." It hurt his heart to say it, but Emmett had no choice. "You better not wait up for me. Win or lose, we're going hard tonight."

"I expect nothing less. Enjoy every second. I know I will."

Emmett leaned in and found the soft lips buried in miles of copper yarn. "Thank you. I wouldn't be here without you."

"Of course you would. Don't forget your sunflower seeds. I'll talk to you later."

"You know, you're kind of hot boyfriend, mom, coach, and best friend all rolled into one."

"Huh," Edward said, a smile taking over his face, "I guess you better hold onto me, then."

"Doing my best here, Professor. Doing my best."

XXX

_What I love about baseball? The slap of the official game ball in the heart of my mitt, knowing the win or loss is literally in my hands._

_Throwing out the first pitch of the 110__th__ World Series at Safeco Field. _

_The hometown crowd going crazy over every single pitch._

_Downing the Giants' first three batters without a hit._

Life was good. Emmett's normal game-day hum was ratcheted up several thousand levels, but he was under control—or so it seemed until the second inning. Right out of the blocks, Emmett hit the lead-off batter with a sloppy pitch, which Sandoval converted to the game's first run. With bases loaded, Pence scored on Crawford's sacrifice fly for a 2-0 lead for the Giants.

_Stop the bleeding, Mac. _Emmett rolled the ball in his hand, the grain of the cowhide cover and waxed thread seams as familiar to him as his own skin. _You will do this now. _Seaver gave the signal for a fastball, and Emmett let it fly. _Strike! _Emmett drew in and released a deep breath before throwing in a second fastball. Perez tipped it into the net. _Strike two! _

_Patience, that's what separates the men from the boys. _Mac had heard it countless times from too many coaches to remember. And here it was, a pivot point in game seven, no better time than the present. He switched it up, hoping Perez would swing at a ball just outside, but the batter held fast. _Ball. _Again. _Ball two._ _And now, for the Big Mac Attack . . ._ Emmett threw his fastest pitch of the night, clocking in at 102. Perez took a hefty swing and missed. _Strike three._

Coach was waiting for him in the dugout. He threw an arm around Emmett's shoulder, asked him a single question—"How are you feeling?"—and, satisfied with Emmett's "Great," sent him away with a hearty slap on the ass. No coddling, no doubts—worked for Emmett. Meanwhile, the Mariners answered with two runs in the second, tying the game and scoring again in the fourth to take a 3-2 lead.

With the cushion of the one-run lead, Emmett took the mound in the fifth, putting away the top of the Giants' batting order one-two-three. The Safeco crowd erupted on every strike, screaming and cheering and chanting "Mac! Mac!" Emmett chanced a glance into the stands as he trotted to the dugout. Edward's reddish beard was a beacon. _More like a siren pulling me in,_ Emmett mused with a chuckle.

Warm and loose with the second inning deficit covered, Emmett delighted the crowd, setting up the double play in the sixth inning and finishing off Morse with the seventh strikeout on the night. Emmett caught movement in the bullpen; Rodney was warming up. _Okay, _unless something disastrous happened, Emmett would pitch through the seventh inning, then Coach would most likely play Rodney in the eighth and send in Fuller to close.

_Crawford, Perez, and Blanco—if he played his cards right, the last three batters Emmett would face this season. _As he watched his own teammates pop out, fly out, and line out, Emmett reviewed his strategy. _Keep it simple. Three big K's adorning the scorecard would work just fine. _

Crawford and Perez went down swinging. The crowd jumped to their feet, roaring their approval, waving caps and towels. "Mac! Mac! Mac!" Blanco stepped into the batter's box. Thanks to Emmett, this guy was having a shitty night, and the added pressure of two outs was certainly not going to help him any. Emmett threw a sinker, which Blanco caught low in the strike zone, sending an easy grounder to the shortstop. Tomlinson threw to first, capturing the third out and capping off Emmett's season on a high note.

The standing ovation was a heady moment for Emmett. It was dangerous, he knew, to get too caught up in what the fans thought of him. _Live by the sword; die by the sword. _Still, this was a moment to soak in and commit to memory. Emmett tipped his cap to the stands, acknowledging the fans for appreciating him, zeroing in on a certain fan wearing a jersey with Emmett's wild scrawls across his back.

Emmett iced up in the dugout, watching with trepidation as the first three Mariners in the batting order went down without a fight. He blasted through a pound of sunflower seeds while Rodney held off the Giants in the eighth inning. Rodney paced with him in the tiny cave while Fuller jogged out to the field in the top of the ninth.

"Three more outs."

Emmett wasn't sure if Rodney was talking to him, but he grunted just in case. That was about all he was capable of at the moment. Every pitch was agony, every call an eternity. Ground out to second. _Two more. _Struck out swinging. _One more, just one more out . . . _Strike _one_ . . . strike _two_ . . . struck out swinging!

The dugout emptied, spilling spare players, trainers, and coaches onto the field. The mass of humanity crushed together into one giant organism of elation on the mound. Giant cannons blasted confetti from the upper reaches of the stands, filling the night sky with shimmery squares that stuck to sweaty uniforms and sank into carefully tended grass.

Emmett ran toward the center and leapt; he was hoisted onto shoulders, bounced up and down, high-fived and cheered. From his vantage point, the scene read like a slow-motion movie, the joy on his teammates' faces cracking their cheeks with mile-wide smiles.

Baseball caps with the "World Series Champions" logo were tossed into the pile. Seaver snagged one and handed it up to Emmett, who smoothed back his sweaty hair before pulling the cap onto his head. The mob of jumping, cheering Mariners divided into pairings of twos and threes. The time for digesting their win would come later; this moment was about sharing one-on-one with his teammates, men who had ridden out the long grind of a season leading them to this accomplishment together. These were the spoils of victory belonging to all of them individually and as a group. Emmett's heart was full of gratitude and love as he embraced each of his teammates and coaches. The guys wouldn't admit to it later, but there wasn't a dry eye in the bunch.

Reporters, microphones, cameras . . . so many cameras. Flashes popped all around the stadium, snapping pictures that would clog Twitter and Facebook for days and weeks to come. Interviews, speeches, trophies . . .

The crowd quieted respectfully to listen for the MVP announcement, then cheered madly for their hero, Emmett McCarty. Though it was common for the winning pitcher to be awarded the MVP award, the announcement jarred him. The phrase "beyond my wildest dreams" popped into Emmett's head and stayed there as he tipped his new cap to the exuberant crowd. He'd deliver his acceptance speech in the locker room when the trophy was officially presented, and Emmett had a pretty good idea what he would say. He was full to the brim with joy and pride but at the same time enormously humbled.

The spectators were let loose onto the field. Sawyer rushed him first, nearly knocking Emmett flat onto his back as he jumped into Emmett's arms. Two skinny little arms wrapped around Emmett's neck, squeezing him tighter than he would've imagined possible.

"Uncle Em! You did it! You did it!"

Emmett closed his eyes and locked the snippet into his mental scrapbook. "Hey, champ! Yeah, we did, didn't we?"

"This is the coolest day of my whole life!"

Emmett chuckled at the boy's passion as he returned Sawyer's feet to the turf. "Mine too, Soy."

Alice grabbed Emmett next, giant tears rolling down her cheeks. "We're so proud of you, baby brother."

"Thanks, sis. Glad you were all here to see it."

"Where else would we be?" Jasper asked, snaking his arm around Emmett's hips. "You were brilliant tonight."

"Poetry in motion," Alice added.

"Can a mother get in on this action too?"

Alice and Jasper released their grip, making an opening for Emmett's mother to push through.

"Hey, Ma."

"My god! Look at my baby!" She pulled him into a firm hug, shaking both of their bodies with her heaving sobs. "I'm sorry I'm getting your uniform all wet."

Emmett chuffed. "That's okay, Ma. It has six months to dry off."

Emmett's father moved in, wrapping his arms around both of them and planting a kiss on Emmett's cheek. "We're so damn proud of you, son. Words can't even come close."

"Thanks, Dad. I guess all those years suffering through Little League games finally paid off!"

"That's funny," his father said, "I don't remember the suffering."

"Haha, okay, Dad. Maybe when the euphoria wears off, all the not-so-fond memories will come rushing back."

"I honestly don't think the euphoria will ever wear off. You worked your whole life for this moment, and you grabbed it by the balls—"

"Francis Dillon McCarty!" Emmett's mom whacked her husband on his arm. "Need I remind you your grandson is standing next to you?"

Emmett's dad chuckled. "Big pitchers have World Series rings, and little pitchers have big ears. Anyway . . . enjoy this, son. You earned it, and nobody deserves it more."

"Thank you, Dad. Thanks for everything, both of you . . . all of you," Emmett said, including the rest of his family.

The familiar figure of Satoru Iwata worked his way through the crowd toward Emmett.

"Hey, I better talk to you guys later. My boss is heading this way."

Sawyer's little face turned to Emmett. "You mean Kyle Seaver?"

Emmett laughed. "Kyle's my teammate. Why would you think he's my boss?"

"He's always telling you what to do."

Emmett reached down and swooped Sawyer into another hug. "Yes, that's true, Soy, but the pitcher is always in charge. I can shake off any call I want."

Jasper patted Emmett on the back one last time. "I guess you have some finer points still to explain to the boy. C'mon, Sawyer. It's way past your bedtime."

There was no point looking for Edward. He was lost in the anonymous crowd.

XXX

Trey caught up with Emmett at the entrance to the long hallway leading to the locker room. "You're a popular guy tonight. I wasn't sure you were gonna have time for your lowly trainer."

Grinning, Emmett clasped Trey's right hand, tugged him into his chest, and wrapped his free arm around Trey's shoulders. "Fuck you, asshole."

"I love you too, Mac."

"I know." Emmett pulled back enough to see Trey's smirk. "Look what we did, Trey."

"Never a doubt."

"Ha! You are such a lying bastard!"

"Okay, look, I'm not gonna get all mushy on you right now . . ." Trey turned his head to the side and sniffled.

"Aw, shit. Don't make me cry again. I have to make a speech in a minute."

"Yeah, okay. I'll take a rain check. Maybe I can take you out to lunch next week and make you cry."

Emmett chuckled. "Because that'll be great for my image."

"Uh, speaking of which . . . don't freak out when you run into my guest in the locker room, okay?"

Emmett's Spidey sense engaged into full hackles-up mode. "Your guest?"

"Yes. I invited one of my honorary deputy trainers to share in your victory."

Heart skipping into an erratic rhythm, Emmett ventured the question he already knew the answer to. "And who might that be?"

Trey leaned in. "He's under my name on the visitor list, and nobody need be the wiser. I thought it would be best if you were prepared."

"Yeah, definitely." Emmett drew in a deep breath. "How the hell did you contact him?"

"I followed him on Twitter after you told me the two of you were together; he followed me back. I sent him an invitation yesterday."

"Sneaky. Wow, I can't believe he didn't say anything to me."

"He said he's pretty good at keeping secrets when he has to."

Emmett chuffed. "You can say that again."

Trey jerked his chin toward the locker room entrance. "You better get inside before the poor guy implodes. I nearly had to tie him down to keep him inside when they announced the MVP."

Emmett burst out laughing. "He might've enjoyed that a bit too much."

"Christ, did I ask to hear the sordid details of your sex life? Get your ass in that locker room before we have a code blue on our hands."

"I don't know whether to thank you or punch you in the face."

Slapping Emmett on his non-pitching shoulder, Trey answered, "Don't make me tie you down, too, my friend."

XXX

The locker room was a zoo: Japanese guys from Nintendo corporate in suits, sports writers crouched over laptops, cameras in every shape and size, former Mariners players paying their respects to the champions who accomplished what they could not. Trey snaked through the crowd, and Emmett followed closely on his heels, pausing to deal with hands thrust out to congratulate him and cries of "Mac, can we get a smile?"

Emmett felt the heat of Edward's gaze on him long before spotting him waiting in the trainers' room. _Stay cool, man. _Exercising restraint he didn't know he possessed, Emmett concentrated on taking slow, deliberate steps. Trey stopped about twenty feet shy of Edward, turning back and placing his hand on Emmett's chest.

"Okay, Mac. I'll keep an eye out but don't forget the walls are glass."

Emmett nodded. "Thanks, man."

While Trey drifted to the other side of the room, Emmett closed the remaining distance to his lover. _Shit! _Edward's eyes were brimming with tears._ How in the hell am I gonna get through this?_

Hearts leaping from pounding chests, the two stood toe to toe, pawns meeting on a chess board. _Your move, Mac. _"Fancy meeting you here, Professor."

Edward's gaze cut to Trey, and an anxious twitch tugged at Edward's lips. "We decided it'd be best not to tell you until after the game."

Emmett shook his head, grinning. "You and Trey are a 'we' now, huh? This sounds like a whopper of an unholy alliance. Please, don't tell me you two have been swapping training methods!"

Edward gave him a nonchalant shrug, but his blush told a different story. "He really cares about you."

"Mmhmm. And he's hot." Emmett waggled his eyebrows.

"Really? I hadn't noticed. I was concentrating on a little game going on outside."

"I almost believe you."

Edward offered a hand and a sly smile. "So . . . _Mr. MVP_, how does it feel?"

Sliding his pitching hand into Edward's, Emmett answered, "I think you might have to pinch me"—Emmett reached his free arm around Edward's shoulders, drew him in, and whispered into his ear—"later."

A firm arm closed around Emmett's waist. They gave each other a brief, tight squeeze, just long enough for Edward to set off Emmett's tears. "Emmett, I am so happy for you and feel so privileged that I can be here to share this moment."

Emmett withdrew slightly, locking tear-filled eyes with Edward and holding their joined hands against Edward's chest. "I'm a little raw here."

"I understand." Edward pulled back with a pat on Emmett's shoulder.

"I'm really glad you're here, too, and now that you are, you should come out with us—that is, if I can ever coax you out of the locker room."

"I suppose I could be lured away by the right bait."

"Are you referring to my worm?" Emmett gave him a stern look. "Sheesh! Stop with the sexy talk, will ya?"

"Mac!" Trey's warning pulled the men apart. "They're ready for you."

"Okay."

"Go," Edward said. "You have trophies to accept. What the hell are you gonna do with your new truck, by the way?"

Grinning, he answered, "No clue."

XXX

**ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball: The night your favorite player is awarded the MVP of the World Series.**

**Wanna know what I love? The morning after the night your favorite fan finally gets to share in the joy of the moment.**

Edward flexed his foot, nudging Emmett's ankle under the sheets. **Stifling a laugh when the Chevy exec flubs the presentation. "It combines class-winning and leading, um, you know technology and stuff."**

Chuckling, Emmett asked, "So he _did_ actually say that? I thought I misheard him!"

"Nope, that's a quote. Scouts' honor."

Snippets of the previous night's celebration played through Emmett's mind like pages of one of his mother's scrapbooks flipped before his eyes. Settling on one very fond memory, Emmett grinned. **Showering in the locker room, knowing he's sitting in the visitors' area, pretending to read his program.**

"I wasn't pretending! I was memorizing the scorecard and doing a few quick calculations."

Emmett nibbled around the shell of Edward's ear. "Okay, Professor. I believe you."

"Huh." Edward's lips pursed in concentration as the gears turned in his genius head. **Downing a pitcher of beer with his friends as if they were all regular people.**

Emmett chuffed while he typed. **The absurdly sexy feeling of knocking knees with him** **under the table when that's all you can do.**

**Almost as sexy as footsies in the taxi home.**

The texts flew fast and furious now. Emmett quickly added to their list. **His thorough eye fucking in the elevator.**

**Undressing the winning pitcher and paying homage to every muscle in his body.**

"Hunh," Emmett grunted, a twitch of his cock reminding him how much he enjoyed the homage-paying. **Autographing dat ass with a fat, red Sharpie.**

Edward smirked, his glance shifting past his phone to Emmett, then back again. **Trying to lie still as he tongue-tattoos his nickname up the underside of the boner sprung especially for him.**

**Finishing him off with your mouth as an appreciation gift to a brilliant coach.**

Edward's lips curled into an adorable grin. **Appreciating the appreciation gift very, very much.** If Edward wasn't getting hard as well, Emmett would've been mightily surprised.

**A certain Professor begging for more…of everything.**

**A certain pitcher delivering more…of everything.**

**The best O-face of the entire season…**

Edward rolled his eyes, a faint blush painting his cheeks pink. **The loudest "FUCK, I'M COMING!"…**

**Flipping him onto his belly and doing it all over again.**

Edward lowered his phone. "What? We didn't . . ."

Tossing his phone to the floor, Emmett waggled his eyebrows.

* * *

**Author's Note:** THEY WON! Oh wait, you knew? Heehee! I modeled game 7 on the actual World Series last year, with very few modifications, so thank you to ESPN for posting a play-by-play. Made my job a billion times easier! And if you get a chance to google the 2014 MVP presentation to Bumgarner (after **YouTube dot com slash**, paste in **watch?v=Ee8wY2mIqs4 **) you will be treated to the ridiculous speech made by a very nervous Chevy executive! I could not have made that shit up. As for the Sharpie bodygraphs, I did make that shit up, but then I found a great picture to accompany the idea. I've posted that today in my patch on FB if you're interested.

Special note of thanks to my back office girls for details large and small. MWAH!

So...where do we go from here? *WINK*

XXX ~BOH


	40. Chapter 40

**XXX CHAPTER 40 XXX**

The days following the Series were a blur of talk-show appearances, radio interviews, and pop-up parties with teammates. Emmett and his buddies couldn't seem to get enough of rehashing the highlights, and with the outcome decided, even the bloopers were now fair game.

Emmett looped in Edward with texts and photos as best he could, considering the guy had an actual day job. As Friday afternoon stretched into Friday evening, and evening turned to night, Emmett waffled between staying out with his friends and meeting up with Edward. Despite Edward's assurances that he was fine, Emmett couldn't help but feel guilty. Since August, when Edward started working, weekends had become much more precious to them both.

**No worries. I have a stack of tests to grade.**

**Better get those done tonight so I can make up for lost time tomorrow.**

**Oh yeah? Will I be able to walk on Sunday?**

**Might be a little bow-legged but you'll get around.**

**Wonderful. Will you be up for a jog in the morning? **

**Sure. **

**Okay. Just call me if you can't.**

**You're not gonna let me get fat and lazy in the off-season, are you?**

**Hell no. You've got till Halloween before I started busting your ass. Have fun. See you in the morning.**

XXX

Ragged from their run and elevator ride, Edward collapsed onto the nearest barstool. "This eight-to-four gig is kicking my ass. You might have to find yourself a new running coach."

Chuckling softly, Emmett slapped him on the back. "We just have to build up your stamina again." Emmett waggled his eyebrows, pulled off his shirt, and jerked his chin toward the bedroom.

"Is that your answer to everything?"

"Pretty much. Got a problem with my solution?"

"Not at all." Edward gave him a toothy grin and a juicy kiss. "Maybe I should try applying your methods to the Hodge conjecture. There's a seven-million-dollar prize for the solution."

"Damn, I love it when you math talk me." Dragging him off the stool, Emmett peeled off Edward's sweaty shirt and tossed it to the floor. They were reaching for each other's shorts when Emmett's phone rang. Deep in the moment, Emmett ignored the intrusion. It was Edward who pulled away first.

"You should get that. Might be a reporter."

"I'll call back . . . or not." Emmett nipped at Edward's neck, moving them both toward the bedroom.

"You don't want to get a reputation for being difficult, do you?"

"You're the one being difficult here, Professor." Emmett stopped cold when a firm hand landed on his chest. His boyfriend had a definite stubborn streak in him. "Seriously?"

"Just be polite and tell them you'll call back at a more convenient time."

"Ugh, I swear, you and your manners are gonna be the death of me—your manners and your ass. They're in a dead heat right now for first place." Emmett reached for his phone and answered while giving Edward an a_re-you-happy-now_ scowl. "Hello?"

"Well, hello there, Mr. MVP."

"Tammy." He made sure Edward heard the _I-told-you-so _in his voice.

"Congrats on the win!"

"Thank you."

"I was kind of hoping I might be able to take you out to celebrate."

"That's really sweet. I'd love to catch up. It would have to be during the workweek though. My weekends and nights are spoken for." Emmett shot Edward a wink.

"Oh. Sounds like your math teacher has taken you out of circulation."

Emmett's free hand wandered inside the elastic of Edward's running shorts. "You might say that."

"Bring him along. It's about time we met."

Emmett froze mid butt-cheek squeeze. "Um . . . I don't know about that."

Edward shot him a quizzical look, and Emmett pulled the phone away from his face.

"Tammy is inviting you to come out with the two of us."

Edward shrugged. "Your call."

He trusted them both implicitly. It was time for his best friend and his boyfriend to meet. _What could go wrong? _

"Sure, Tam. Let's do it."

"Excellent! I finally get to meet the mysterious tweeter. Think you two could drag your asses out of bed for lunch tomorrow?"

"Only for you, Tammy."

"El Colibri at noon?"

He and Edward had ventured out for a few harmless lunches in the city. With the added cover of a third guest, Emmett wasn't too worried. "We'll see you there."

Tugging away Edward's shorts and then his own, Emmett discarded the remainder of clothes and electronics as he pawed Edward all the way to his bedroom. "Sweaty sex or shower sex first?" he asked, knowing full well which his boyfriend would choose.

"Sweaty."

It was so much fun to make Edward say it, to raise that sweet blush on his cheeks.

Emmett chuckled into Edward's ear as he licked around the shell. "Damn, I've missed you."

XXX

Twenty-four hours weren't enough to catch up on all they'd missed in each other's lives over the past few days-the whirlwind of press and talk shows, the intimate conversations with teammates and coaches, the minute details of every day that Emmett had grown accustomed to sharing with his eager audience.

And the pieces of Edward's life that had slipped away unnoticed. What classroom drama had he managed? What amusing story about a co-worker? What wild adventure with his math team had Emmett failed to hear about?

Between screwing sessions that ranged from urgent to tender, from shower to furniture and floor, they catnapped with tangled limbs, stuffed their faces with restaurant deliveries, and fed each other's souls with stored-up stories. Day bled into night into morning until all they could manage was conversation.

Fingering the hard lines and curves of the naked body beside him, Emmett found himself wondering about what else he'd missed in Edward's life, as if the more he learned about Edward, the more he needed to know. "Tell me about your first time."

Edward leaned back into Emmett's chest, tipping his head back over his shoulder. "First time what?"

What, indeed? What was it Emmett was most curious about? The first time Edward had sex with a man? His first kiss? First blowjob? The first time his heart fluttered for someone else? Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

"All of it. Everything. Anything."

Edward sighed and shook his head. He flopped onto his back and folded his arms behind his head.

_This is gonna be good,_ Emmett decided gleefully. He traced his fingertips across Edward's chest, met the hardened nipples with a light pinch, drawing a grin from his exhausted partner. "Just to help jog your memory," Emmett said with a smirk.

"Thanks." Edward regarded him quietly for a minute. "The summer before first grade, a new family moved onto our street."

"Oh my god, the boy next door. That is so you."

"Shh!"

"Sorry, continue." Emmett tweaked a nipple to get him talking again.

"The next day, my mom sent me over with a batch of chocolate chip cookies. His mother opened the door, and her face lit up when she saw me. She called Ben over to meet me."

"Lemme guess," Emmett interjected. "Athletic, outgoing, and adorable?"

Edward gave him a good-natured eye roll. "Nope. Actually, he was more like me than you—shy, insecure, kind of owly. He had the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen. I remember I couldn't stop staring when his mom introduced us."

Emmett brushed his palm across Edward's belly. "Butterflies?"

"I guess. I felt this pull to be with him. It didn't even matter what we were doing."

"What _were_ you doing?"

"Mostly nothing," Edward said with a chuff. "This poor kid had four older sisters, and he was in dire need of some peace and quiet—"

"And testosterone!"

Edward chuckled. "Yes, well, as much as I had at age six."

"I'm sure you had plenty."

"Mmhmm. _Any_way . . . he'd come knocking at our door just about every day. Sometimes, he'd bring a deck of cards or a ball of some sort. After Mom offered to turn on the sprinklers for us to run through, he'd show up in his bathing suit."

"Oh good god. Speedos?"

"No," Edward answered with a sidelong glance. "And I wasn't looking anyway."

"Huh, I bet _he_ was."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Cut that shit out. We were kids!"

"Okay." Sealing his lips together, Emmett gave him a silent promise not to interrupt again. The truth was, Edward was treating him to the actual moment his virgin heart opened for the first time, and Emmett didn't want to miss a single beat.

"Ben's visits grew longer; he'd bring over his summer reading, and we'd hang out in my room after we'd exhausted ourselves outside. My mom is an awesome cook, as you know, but I honestly think Ben would've stayed for dinner if she'd served peanut butter and jelly. After a couple of weeks of this, my mom invited their whole family over. I guess she wanted his folks to see that we weren't axe murderers or something. Our moms must've made some kind of pact that night, because the next day, Ben had his first sleepover."

"Oh boy. I'm gonna need some details."

Edward shot him a shrewd grin. Yeah, he knew Emmett pretty well too.

"He started out in the guest bed, but at some point during the night, Ben woke me up and crawled into bed with me. I think he was a little homesick."

"Aww."

"I woke up with his chest snuggled against my back and his head resting on my shoulder. It was probably the best night's sleep I ever had. After that, we were inseparable, day and night."

"Do you think your parents knew how close you two were getting?"

"I don't know that they thought anything of it. I was happy."

"Please don't tell me that little kid broke your heart."

"No, but his parents did. His father was transferred to Dallas at the end of third grade. Never saw any of them again. Needless to say, I was a wreck."

"Ugh, you're killing me here." Emmett lay his head on Edward's chest, curling his fingers around Edward's hip. "Was he your first kiss?"

"Nope. We never actually got physical with each other. The whole thing was completely innocent . . . aside from a wee bit of 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours.'"

"No shit! Just looking? No touching?"

Edward chuckled, his chest vibrating under Emmett's ear. "Nah, we kept our hands in our own pajamas, but I do remember him with a fond tingle."

Emmett's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Edward reached an arm around Emmett's back to pull him closer and riffle his hair.

"What about you? Who broke the seal on Emmett McCarty's heart?"

"You," Emmett answered without wasting a beat.

Edward thumped him on the back. "Before me."

Tilting his head to meet Edward's gaze, Emmett said, "My story is nowhere near as sweet or as innocent as yours."

"I can take it—now that we know your story has a happy ending." Edward could hardly contain his smile. And he wasn't letting Emmett off the hook.

"All right." Emmett wriggled out from under Edward's arm and tapped Edward's belly twice. Slumping onto his back with a dramatic sigh, he clasped his hands behind his head, mirroring Edward's pose. "Confession time."

Taking his cue like a champ, Edward rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his palm. "I'm listening."

"I had an unfortunate appetite for straight boys, which started at an early age and followed me through most of high school."

"Ugh, that's the worst."

"Tell me about it." Emmett rolled his eyes. "So, Garrett Healey. King of the Eisenhower playground. Ruler Supreme of the jungle gym. Master of the monkey bars."

"Oh, one of _those_."

"Yep, my own personal curse. Every day, I'd shove down my ham sandwich and Fritos and get my ass outside just to behold his perfection. Damn, he loved an audience, that kid. We'd line up three-deep just to watch the show. Even the adults were entranced. He was three years ahead of me, so I really watched him grow from scrawny—but extremely flexible—to muscular and confident. By the time Garrett hit sixth grade, I was old enough to understand that he owned my recess boner, not that I could do much with it besides try like hell to hide it."

Edward smiled and traced a line with his finger from Emmett's chin straight down to the recess boner. "Did Garrett have any idea what kind of havoc he was wreaking on you?"

"Not until I challenged him to a monkey bars contest one day."

"Uh oh."

"You can say that again." The memory was painful, even now, even with his lover's eyes offering sympathy and infinite admiration. "I was not the physical specimen you see before you today."

"Hard to imagine," Edward said with an almost straight face. "So, he agreed to this contest?"

"He lived for it. I'll never forget the way he looked me up and down, this cocky smirk appearing on his face, and he said, 'Loser is the winner's slave for a week.'"

"Damn! That's hot!"

Emmett chuffed, all kinds of fantasies rolling through his mind as he regarded his boyfriend. "It'd be hot _now_, with you_._ At eight years old, all I heard was either way, I was spending a week up close and personal with Garrett Healey. I shook his hand and sold my soul to the devil."

"Jesus, Em, what did that boy do to you?"

"We climbed onto the platform together, my poor heart was pounding so hard, I thought it might actually explode. Here I was with Garrett. He was talking to _me_, a third grader! Neither of us had a doubt in the world he was about to annihilate me, and I didn't even care. 'Challenger goes first,' he said. I reached for the first bar and realized I had no idea how to do this except for the time spent watching Garrett. Luckily, I had the strength in my right arm from pitching, so I was able to hold on and swing my weight forward. For a second, I thought maybe I had a chance, maybe I could outlast Garrett, even started thinking about what I might have him do as my slave."

"Oh, please share!"

Emmett smirked. "Considering I had all of half a second to contemplate before I fell into the dirt, I never got past imagining him sitting next to me in the cafeteria."

"Aww."

"Yeah, well, apparently, he had more time to think about it while he careened over me, flying across the bars at the speed of light."

"Asshole. I hate this kid."

Emmett nodded. "He flips around at the end and swings himself across to where I'm lying on my back. He dangles over me for a few seconds, taunting me, then drops right on top of my stomach and pins my arms over my head. It was easily the most humiliating moment of my short life, but I'd never been more excited!"

"You are a hot mess, Emmett McCarty." Edward climbed on top of Emmett, straddled his hips, leaned in, and kissed him. "So, what'd he make you do?"

"He had me carrying his books, fetching his lunch for him in the cafeteria, and even cleaning his room one day after school."

"You went to his house?"

"Yes. I had to make up some bullshit story for my parents."

"Did you still like him after the week was up?"

"I wanted him even more, and I hated his guts for it. Unfortunately, the want never went away. Thankfully, by the time we met up again in high school, I was already pretty popular, and I was getting all the head I could handle from the cheerleading squad."

"Girls?" Edward's eyes bugged out, making Emmett chuckle.

"Hey, when in Rome. Some of those girls gave really good head."

Edward rolled off to Emmett's side. "You're disgusting."

"I was horny and confused . . . and horny. They weren't asking for anything in return. It seemed like a pretty good deal to me."

"You didn't know you were gay?"

"I knew I was attracted to boys, but I couldn't make up my mind about girls. I knew I was _supposed_ to like girls, and they were certainly an easier solution to my problem." Emmett reached for Edward's face, cupping his cheek. "I hope that doesn't make you think less of me. I'm just being honest."

"No, not at all. Just makes me feel a little sorry for you." Edward frowned, his gentle eyes exuding empathy. "Damn, why does love have to hurt so much?"

"It doesn't. Not when it's right. We'll never hurt each other."

"Everyone says that."

"Yeah. Listen, if we ever break up, please just don't get with another pitcher. That's all I ask."

Edward chuffed. "Okay, and you stay away from math teachers."

"Deal."

They sealed the agreement with a slow, deep kiss.

"So . . . _all_ your firsts were with girls?"

Emmett chuckled, because of course, the professor's brain was still churning. "Most. First kiss, first blowjob, first fuck . . . yes."

Tugging Edward's face closer, Emmett closed his lips over the comical grimace. "Don't feel bad for me. All my important firsts happened with you." The deep green eyes staring back at him melted a little as Emmett elaborated. "First time holding hands with a man. First bareback. First time playing chess." They both grinned. "First time in love."

Even as Edward lowered his body on top of Emmett's, lining up lips and chests and thighs, Emmett knew Edward could not make the same claim. The realization might've soured his mood a tad more if not for the heavenly friction between his legs and the sweet taste of his lover's tongue. Edward's kisses grew urgent, as if he were frantic to communicate something. He pulled back suddenly from Emmett's mouth, still grinding their erections together with a wild desperation.

"You may not be my first love, Emmett McCarty, but you're the love of my life, and you will be my last."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Here's where I offer you a mild disclaimer, dear readers. As was very kindly, politely, graciously, and tactfully pointed out by my "staff", we have officially entered a section of slice-of-life chapters that have no lofty goal beyond moving you through a kind of day-in-the-life rhythm of our two lovers, bridging the World Series (October) to tee-ball season (March). Many of these "what-would-it-look-like-if-they-[talked about or did]-XYZ" scenes were prompted by reader suggestions, and the rest I will take the full blame or credit for, as you see fit. This particular scene was prompted by a reader curious to know about Edward's coming out experience. Since we know his parents were fully supportive, I decided this "first" scene would be more interesting for me to ponder, and then I wondered how Emmett's experiences would have differed, both because he's Emmett and because he chose to hide or deny who he was. I'd be very curious (and very happy) to hear what you thought of this but even more curious to hear how YOU imagined their firsts might've gone. Also, I recently read a thread on FB indicating that most people don't read authors' notes. That doesn't seem to be the case with you guys, but if I'm blabbing here needlessly, I guess I'd like to find that out too! Usually I try to offer some backstory or something relevant because I really love the reviews that are about the chapter and not about whatever nonsense is happening in my life.  
**XXX ~BOH**

PS- Apologies to my prereaders for somewhat ignoring their warnings, and please don't look upon them with less respect for my desire to spend a bit more time with my boys and share the fruits of those discoveries with you.


	41. Chapter 41

**XXX CHAPTER 41 XXX**

When they arrived at El Colibri, Tammy was already seated at the bar, margarita in hand, chatting up the bartender.

Shoulder to shoulder with Edward, Emmett took a deep breath and said, "Here we go." He would've loved to have taken Edward's hand, if only to give it a reassuring squeeze—or maybe gotten one for himself. He knew Tammy would love Edward, but she didn't always couch her thoughts in niceties. Emmett had always taken it in stride, but Edward was a sensitive soul.

Edward had spotted her, too. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, holding his gaze on Tammy. "I'm fine, but I think you should have a drink."

"Sounds like a grande idea."

Edward chuckled. "Bueno."

"Hola, señorita."

As Tammy turned toward Emmett's voice, she lit up. "Ah! Señor MVP!" She jumped off her stool and gathered Emmett into a tight hug. Without letting go, she greeted Edward. "Y señor profesor de matemáticas."

Edward tugged on Emmett's sleeve, a horrified look on his face. "She does speak English, right?"

"Tammy Lutz, say hello to Edward Cullen . . . in English, please. Edward, this would be Tammy."

"Hello, Tammy. Very nice to finally meet you."

Taking Edward's offered hand, she answered. "So you're the guy who stole my fake boyfriend."

"And we're off," Emmett said with a chuckle. "C'mon, let's get you some food to soak up that tequila, Tam."

"Or maybe more tequila to keep it company."

Tammy laughed at her own joke as they moved toward the hostess stand. Emmett had called ahead for a table, and the hostess obliged even though a small crowd had formed.

"I'm sorry. We had to close the outdoor patio for the season, but I saved you an out-of-the-way table. Follow me, please."

Emmett gestured for the others to go first, and Edward waved Tammy on ahead. There were some advantages to the cooler fall weather, Emmett had to admit—this particular pair of jeans of Edward's being one that immediately came to mind. He wished he didn't know that beneath the jeans were Emmett's favorite fire-engine red boxerjocks. It made the whole not-mauling thing that much harder.

Emmett sat between them while the butterflies pounded away like prizefighters at his chest. It was a bit surreal to be seated at the table with the two of them, his oldest, dearest friend and the man who'd come to mean so much to Emmett in such a short time.

The waitress stopped by to take their drink orders, and Emmett locked away another tidbit about Edward—he liked his margarita straight up, no salt. Tammy, on the other hand, ordered herself another frozen strawberry though she was barely halfway through the first. His heart went out to her; Tammy was a stress drinker. Apparently, this meeting had all three of them on edge. _Wonderful_.

"So, Edward, how do you like Seven Hills?"

"It's a good place. I'm still getting settled in, but I love the kids and my colleagues. The parents . . ."—Edward chuffed as he shook his head—"I haven't quite mastered the fine art of dealing with them yet, but I'm working on it."

Emmett chuckled, wishing once again he could take Edward's hand. "He's a bit too honest for his own good," he explained to Tammy.

"Ah, that's a terrible quality in a teacher. No parent wants to know the truth!"

The drinks arrived not a moment too soon. Tammy downed the remains of her first and traded it in for the fresh one. Lifting her frosty pink drink to the center of the table, she offered a toast. "To happiness . . . and other things." With a glint in her eye, she clinked glasses with both of them.

Emmett offered a nod of gratitude for both what she'd offered and what she'd left unsaid in public. "Cheers."

Tammy tipped back her glass and took a healthy swig. "Have you run across Sawyer at school yet?"

"I, um . . ." Edward's startled gaze bounced back and forth between Emmett and Tammy. "I know who he is, but we haven't been introduced yet."

_Shit._

"Oh. Of course." Tammy gave Edward a superior smile that set Emmett's teeth on edge. "Well, when you do meet him, you'll love him. He's a great kid."

"I look forward to it. I've certainly heard a lot of great things about him." Edward picked up his menu, effectively shifting the conversation off the uncomfortable topic. "So, what's good here?"

Happy to oblige, Emmett answered. "I like the chicken habanero burrito, but I think that's gonna be way too spicy for you."

Tammy shot Emmett a sharp look over the top of her menu. "Are you ordering for him already?"

Before Emmett could answer, Edward set down his menu, folded his hands on top, and smiled sweetly at Emmett. "You know what? That sounds fine by me. I trust you."

_Christ,_ Emmett was beginning to feel like a ping-pong ball being smacked back and forth across the table. Or, more accurately, smacked by Tammy and caressed by Edward.

While Tammy's gaze bore down on him, Emmett perused the menu in search of something mild but delicious. "I'd pick the Enchiladas Muchachas for you unless you're in the mood for a salad?"

"Nope, that's perfect. So, Tammy, what kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a regional HR manager for Amazon."

"Huh, I read that Amazon services nearly 20 million customers a day."

"Yes, sounds about right."

"That's an awful lot of fulfillment."

"Indeed."

Emmett's margarita muted the pangs of anxiety fluttering around in his belly as he watched their conversation from the sidelines.

"And you're responsible for the people who fill all those orders?"

"The ones here in Seattle, yes. Most of them come in from staffing agencies, and then we screen them and take care of the training."

"What's your biggest challenge with your employees?"

_Edward really would've made a great lawyer._

"Shrink."

Edward's eyebrows popped up. "Sorry?"

Tammy's giggle floated across the table. "Merchandise unaccounted for at the time of inventory."

"Oh! Theft!"

Tammy grinned. "He catches on quick, huh?"

"The quickest," Emmett deadpanned.

"You know what the most lifted item is?" Tammy asked them both.

Emmett ventured a guess first. "Electronics."

"Try again."

"I'm gonna say jewelry," Edward said.

"Nope. Condoms and sex toys."

"Huh. Maybe we need to get you a job at Amazon, Professor." Emmett let loose a double-barreled smirk on his boyfriend.

"I think I'd make a fairly lousy thief."

Emmett laughed. "Yes, I would agree."

As usual, Edward moved the conversation forward, or more accurately, sideways. "So, will the drones fall under your authority?"

_Oh boy._

"I believe they're pretty literal about the 'H' in 'HR' so I'm gonna have to say no."

"Makes sense. Would've been cool though."

Tammy shook her head and laughed. "Definitely."

"You see what I have to put up with?" Emmett teased. "His brain never shuts down."

"Mmhmm." Tammy wasn't buying his annoyed act, but then, Emmett wouldn't really have expected her to. "So, Em, are you still on top of the world?"

Emmett gave Edward one of those goofy smiles he meant not to give in public. "Oh yeah."

"Um . . . I think she was asking about the whole World Series thing." Edward offered a helpful tip of his chin toward Tammy.

"Oh!" Emmett cleared his throat and prayed he wasn't bright red. "That."

Tammy giggled. "Good god, you are so far gone, my friend."

"Apparently."

"Well, speaking of _this_"—she wiggled a finger along the table, indicating the two of them—"how lovely that you feel that way."

"Yeah." Emmett sighed, casting his eyes on Edward again despite his best intentions. "I can't seem to get enough."

Edward snorted. "I can vouch for that."

_Case in point, right now_. Had they been alone in his apartment, Emmett would've jumped him by now, and Edward knew it too.

"It's kind of interesting." Tammy's tone had enough troublemaker to it that Emmett's antennae went up.

"What's that?" he asked cautiously.

She was staring at Edward like a scientist observing a rat in a maze. "He doesn't seem to be your type at all."

Emmett didn't care for Tammy's speaking about Edward as if he weren't in the room, but he certainly wasn't about to feel defensive for his choice. He turned and directed his response toward Edward. "No, you are definitely not my type. I guess that was my first clue that I was going to fall harder, faster, and deeper than ever before."

Emmett itched to wrap a hand behind Edward's head and draw him in for a kiss but settled for stretching his leg across Edward's under-table space. Innocent enough, but touching. Finally touching.

Edward returned his melty-eyed gaze, leaned forward, and smiled. "I guess you've come a long way since Garrett Healey."

Emmett chuckled. A soft, intimate laugh to let Edward know he was so fucking happy they'd shared those tucked-away pieces of themselves.

"Who?"

Emmett snapped back to the present, back to his old friend who never knew about his first painful crush. "Nobody important," he answered.

Tammy took a long drag on her drink. "Do you play any sports, Edward?"

"I run. Hand-eye coordination isn't really my strength."

Emmett turned to Tammy. "He's being modest. You should see him juggle."

"Juggle? Really?"

Edward hid his face in his margarita, the flesh of his cheeks as pink as Tammy's drink. He gathered himself, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and attempted to finesse the conversation again. "I don't think my fumbling around qualifies as a sport exactly."

Tammy watched them eye each other for a bit while sipping at her drink. "Are you guys getting out at all?"

"No." Emmett's answer came out sharper than he'd intended, but she'd poked her finger at a tender bruise. "I mean, there's the occasional lunch, but"—he leaned closer to Tammy and lowered his voice—"you see this. It's not my imagination; we're ridiculous, right?"

Edward lifted his eyes, too. Whatever Tammy might say or not say about them wouldn't really change anything, and yet, they both held their breath until she delivered her verdict. Because wasn't there a chance Emmett was wrong? That maybe they weren't as obvious as he was certain they were?

"You two are beyond ridiculous."

Emmett deflated like a punctured tire, the air whooshing out of him with a remorseful grimace.

Seeing Emmett's response, Edward frowned as well. "Why do I feel like the groundhog who just saw his shadow?"

The knife twisted in Emmett's gut. How long could he force Edward back into his dark underground tunnel without doing serious damage, if not to their relationship then to the man himself? Emmett didn't need a statistician to tell him that gay couples don't survive when one is out and the other isn't.

_This isn't the time. _It wouldn't be fair to the Mariners franchise or his teammates. The media frenzy would take the focus off the team's accomplishments. Who knows what the backlash would be in terms of negotiating his new contract?

Their food showed up, two heaping plates of chicken concoctions for the boys and a salad for Tammy.

Tammy gathered the pile of chips rimming the salad bowl and airlifted them to Emmett's bread plate. "Want?"

"No, thanks."

"Oh. Sorry."

Emmett took one look at her booboo face and reached for her hand, chips and all. "Thanks anyway," he said, adding a warm smile.

Too little, too late. Tammy excused herself from the table, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste to leave. Emmett had precious little experience with women, and Tammy was not usually one for drama. Emmett understood just enough to know he'd fucked this up somehow.

"Hey, I think I better—"

"You should probably—"

They spoke over each other, two minds churning with the same solution. Emmett dropped his napkin on the chair as he stood. "I'm sorry. I'll be right back."

"Do whatever you need to do. I'm a big boy."

"Don't I know it," Emmett said, leaving Edward chuckling with an exaggerated wink.

He waited outside the ladies' room, startling Tammy when she finally emerged. "Hi."

"What are you doing? The men's room is over there."

"I came to check on you."

"Oh brother. Your burrito is gonna get cold."

"Nah, it's muy caliente. It'll keep."

"Funny. You left your boyfriend all alone at the table."

_Also muy caliente, but that observation won't help. _"He'll keep too."

Out of excuses to send him away, Tammy relented with a loud sigh. "Honestly, I'm fine."

"You're as bad a liar as Edward, you know that?"

"Well, at least I have that going for me."

"Tam . . . shit. This was a terrible idea, wasn't it?"

"No. It was a great idea. I'm just not handling this as well as I'd hoped."

Emmett wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled her into his chest. "I'm sorry."

"There's no reason for you to be sorry."

"I know, but you know how much I hate hurting you."

Tammy sniffled a few times, then mumbled into his shirt. "I hope you know I'm really happy for you."

"Of course I know that."

"I really thought I'd be more okay with this."

Emmett gave her a playful jostle. "Eh, I was your first crush. Your heart's not gonna just forget me overnight."

"Thanks for being a jerk. It helps."

He chuckled. "Any time."

Tammy sighed and pulled back from his embrace. "I just realized I've never actually seen you with someone you cared about." Taking a quick check to make sure they were alone, she added, "It's one thing to know intellectually that you're gay but another to actually see you with a man you're obviously head over heels for."

Emmett wouldn't toss out platitudes about wanting her as a friend, or worse, promising her she would have been the one if he weren't gay. None of that had ever helped much. "What can I do?"

"Just be really fucking happy with that man out there. He seems as amazing as you promised."

"He really is." The familiar twinge of pride filled Emmett's chest.

Tammy pulled back, taking both of Emmett's hands inside her own. "I really wanted to love him, you know. But then, I got here and saw you two together, and then I kind of wanted to hate him."

Emmett chuffed. "How'd that work out?"

"Freaking impossible."

"Yep."

"Do you think I need to apologize to him?"

"No. He's basically the most understanding man on the planet."

"He'd have to be," Tammy said, gently patting Emmett's shirt about where his heart was.

"Ain't that the truth?" Tammy turned toward the table, towing Emmett by the hand. "I realize this is a ridiculous thing to say to a person who just won the World Series, but I have never seen you happier."

"And how about you, my friend? Is Mr. Black fulfilling all your orders? Or do we need to send in the drones?"

She rolled her eyes before answering. "Actually, he is doing quite admirably, thank you very much."

"Glad to hear it."

"Can we be done talking about my love life now, please?" Tammy's gaze flicked over to Edward, tucking happily into his enchilada.

"Fair enough."

Tammy elbowed Emmett in the side. "You're doing that thing again with your face."

"Shit. I can't help it."

"You do know there are other solutions to this problem, right?"

"Aaaaand we're back."

Emmett pulled out Tammy's chair, and she gave him one last stern glare before taking her seat. He shrugged it off.

"How's your lunch?" Tammy asked.

"Delicious. Everything okay?"

"All is well," Emmett answered. Laying his napkin across his lap, he cut into his burrito and took the first bite. "Mmm."

Edward shook his head and grinned. "Your tongue must hate you right now."

"Not half as much as you're gonna hate the habanero effect later."

Tammy interrupted Emmett's eyebrow waggle. "Cool it, Romeo. I'm trying to eat over here."

Edward jumped in, setting down his fork with a dramatic flourish. "Seriously. I am too." He gave Tammy a _can-you-believe-this-guy _shrug, and she smiled back.

"I'm not sure I like what's happening here," Emmett said, but he was lying. In fact, he could hardly contain his smile.

Content to let Tammy and Edward carry on the conversation, Emmett relaxed and enjoyed his meal. Their circles were widening, overlapping, opening to include the world of people who came with the deal. Their lives were fusing together in small and significant ways, some predictable, some surprising.

By the end of the meal, Tammy was sufficiently sobered up and pumped with coffee for Emmett to allow her to drive home. With plans to follow each other on Twitter and chilling promises to "keep Emmett in line," Edward and Tammy hugged and said their goodbyes in the parking lot.

"You okay to drive?" Edward asked Emmett.

"I'm good, but I think I better warn you . . ."

Edward shot him a look of concern. "What?"

"Tequila makes me horny."

"Ay Dios!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I would like to especially thank Tammy herself (**Taylor9901**) for the consult on this chapter. Aside from posting some of the funniest reviews on this story and _Benched_, Tammy has some really lovely insights into these characters, and she was kind enough to share a few with me along the way. Also, thank you to the ladies of FB who helped me figure out that last line!

Hold onto your sad goodbyes. We still have a few more weeks together with this story! Thanks for all the love you've shown.  
**XXX ~BOH**


	42. Chapter 42

**XXX CHAPTER 42 XXX**

**HOLY SHIT! JUST SAW THE ANNOUNCEMENT! CONGRATS!**

**Ahem, Professor, aren't you in class right now?**

**Class shmass! CY YOUNG, EM! You did it!**

Emmett flopped down into the sand. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, the beach was quiet, and Emmett was free to laugh out loud at his phone. He knew damn well Edward would have been watching and waiting for the announcement, classes be damned.

**Are you sneaking your phone under the desk? What if one of the kids catches you…or WORSE—the HEADMISTRESS?**

**I'd hear her heels clicking in time to stuff my phone in the desk. Back to the topic—did you see you were the unanimous choice? UNANIMOUS!**

_Had he seen it?_ Emmett laughed again. Um, yeah. **I bet your ears are all red right now. Take a selfie. I have to see.**

**(ignoring) We have to celebrate! How's about I stop by Capital Grille and pick up some calamari and all the lobster mac you can eat?**

**Muhammed is coming to the city? **Except on rare occasions, Edward slept in Renton during the week, which meant Emmett slept in Renton during the week.

**Sure, what the hell. CY YOUNG! This is HUGE!**

Truth was, Emmett had some pretty big ideas of his own. He'd just been working up the nerve to share them. Maybe he was punch drunk on the announcement, but this seemed as good a time as any.

**I have another idea. We'll talk when I see you tonight.**

**You can't leave me hanging here without a hint!**

His boyfriend was so wise; this was much better. Float the idea now and let Edward's imagination run wild.

**Okay. Double date Friday night. My place. **

**afsdkjlkjglkajdsfjkhlkfjhlakjdhfkjdfh!**

**Enjoy your afternoon, Professor! xxx**

**XXX**

How had Emmett never noticed before what a maze of decisions awaited the amateur shopper at his local Safeway? Perhaps because purchasing cut-up-fruit containers didn't involve knocking on melon rinds or plucking off fronds or sniffing at stems. Emmett retraced his path through the aisles, phone tucked securely under his chin.

"Tell me again why we can't just order a platter?"

"Platters are for cheaters. When I make my own fruit salad, I can serve the ideal ratio of melon to berries."

Emmett rolled his eyes, plucked yet another raised-web, non-bruised, non-leaking, firm-but-not-rock-hard, non-sloshy-sounding—per Edward's instructions—cantaloupe, raised it to his nose, and inhaled. _Sweet, but is it too sweet? _Glaring at the melon, Emmett dared the fucker to be imperfect.

"What if I bring you home all rancid fruit?"

"Then I'll make a quick run to the store before our guests arrive. No biggie. I told you I could stop and get everything on the list on my way home."

"No way! I can handle this! Just remind me . . . what do I want to hear when I knock on the watermelon?"

With the patience of a saint, Edward recited the tried-and-true Cullen watermelon selection system for the third time that day. ". . . And if you get a dull thud, the flesh is too soft. Your knuckles should bounce off the melon."

"Okay, hang on while I knock on a few."

"My pleasure."

Ignoring his boyfriend's sarcasm, Emmett plowed on. "All right, that's all set. I have grapes, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, honeydew, and pineapple. What'd I forget?"

"Kiwi always looks nice on top. Not too soft, not too firm. Get a couple."

"Wonderful . . . okay, what's next?

"Can you handle the veggies for the salad?"

"Hmm." Emmett smirked as he laid his hand on a particularly large cucumber. "I think I'm good with the salad."

"Okay, remember what I told you about the corn?"

"Yes, butterscotch-colored tassels, peel back the husk around the top, blah, blah, blah."

Edward chuffed. "Yes, I distinctly remember telling you 'blah, blah, blah.' Can you be trusted to pick out a fresh loaf of bread?"

Emmett followed his nose to the bakery, standing in awe before the array of varieties, shapes, and sizes. "Gimme a hint?"

Edward chuckled softly into his ear. "Whatever looks good and doesn't have mold growing on it is fine."

"Check! How we doing on time?"

"I have eighteen minutes before fifth period."

Emmett beat feet to the meat. "Aren't those your smarty pants kids?"

"Yep."

"Maybe you should've sent them to the store to pick out ripe fruit. Then we'd see just how smart they are."

Edward gave him a long-suffering sigh, but Emmett could hear the smile on his face. "I think linear equations might be enough of a challenge for them."

"Stop talking dirty, Professor. I'm standing in front of the meat case here. My excitement level is high enough."

The butcher sent a thick hand over the glass wall, and Emmett stretched for it. "Hey, Emmett! Good to see you! What can I get you today?"

"Hey, man. I'll take . . ."

Edward finished his sentence. "Four thick rib-eyes, not fatty but nicely marbled."

"Really? I have to ask for it like that?"

"Yes! Or take a picture and let me pick."

"Hell no! I think the butcher and I can handle this."

"Fine. Don't forget to mention the marbling."

"Later, Professor." Emmett sighed and shoved the phone into his pocket. "Apparently, I'll take four thick rib-eyes, not fatty but nicely marbled."

The butcher shot him a bro solidarity wink. "Girlfriend?"

"Something like that."

"Heehee, I get it, man." The butcher reached into the case with a gloved hand and shuffled the steaks around before setting a slab of beef on the scale. "I got you covered; only the best for our local hero. She'll love these." Emmett looked on as he piled three more steaks on top of the first. "Actually, you don't know how lucky you are that your girl eats meat. Nowadays, most of them are vegetarian"—he punched a code into the scale, wrapped the meat in brown paper, and slapped on the label—"or _worse._" His nose crinkled at the thought.

"Oh yeah, mine likes meat all right," Emmett said, adding his own wink back as he took the package.

"Sounds like you got yourself a keeper."

_Yes, it certainly does._

XXX

"Save some wine for the guests!"

"Gotta keep the chef happy," Emmett said, topping off Edward's glass of the Joseph Phelps cab. "Besides, I bought four bottles. I think we're good. My sister weighs all of a hundred pounds. Half a glass gets her loopy."

Edward chuckled. "This oughtta be interesting."

"Mmhmm." Stepping behind Edward, Emmett wrapped his arms around his lover's waist as the wine kissed them both with a happy buzz. "Have I ever mentioned how sexy you look in my kitchen?"

"I believe you have." Edward tried to shrug him off, but Emmett held tight.

"Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you're chopping and dicing?"

"Have I ever told you how distracting you are when you rub up against me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear?"

Emmett's lips trailed soft kisses on the flesh between Edward's collar and hairline. "For a guy who can solve triple integrals, you seem awfully challenged cutting up a melon."

Setting the giant knife gingerly on the counter, Edward tipped back his head onto Emmett's shoulder and groaned. "I don't like your fingers so close to the blade. Makes me crazy."

Chuckling softly, Emmett rocked them slowly side to side. "You and Alice are going to get along great."

"Hey, speaking of our company, you should go light the grill."

"Sure you don't want to join me on the balcony?"

"Yep."

"I'll hold your hand." Emmett punctuated his singsong invitation by dragging his tongue around the shell of Edward's ear.

"Thanks anyway."

"Okay, but you won't get to watch me wrangle the fire."

"Just don't burn the steaks, Tarzan."

"Ha!" Emmett thwacked Edward on the ass and headed outside.

The fire roared to life. Emmett closed the lid and walked through the open slider just as the intercom buzzed. Stepping over to the wall panel in the kitchen, Emmett gave the okay to the concierge and looked up to find a very anxious Edward nipping at his wine.

Moving close enough to intertwine his fingers with Edward's, Emmett leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "They're going to love you."

"What if they don't think I'm good enough for you?"

"You're nuts. C'mere." Reaching a hand behind Edward's neck, Emmett pulled him in for a deeper kiss. He figured his tongue could be more convincing this way than yapping out some words Edward wouldn't hear right now, but he did that anyway when he was done with the kiss. "You're good enough for me. You're awesome for me. You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. It's obvious."

The elevator doors slid open, and Emmett tightened his grasp on Edward's hand, tugging him toward their guests. Jasper must've coached his wife on the way over. Alice looked ready to pounce, but she didn't. _Thank God. _

"Alice, Jasper, I'd like you to meet my partner, Edward Cullen."

Alice moved first, handing a foil-wrapped rectangular package to Emmett as she extended her hand toward Edward. "It's so wonderful to meet you, finally. Emmett's told us so much about you. Well, not _so_ much, actually, because you know how he is . . ."

Jasper cleared his throat and gave his head a _rein-it-in_ shake.

Edward grasped Alice's hand without letting go of Emmett's. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alice."

Jasper followed suit, stepping forward to shake Edward's hand. "So you're the famous fan," he said with a giant smile.

"Seems so." Edward chuckled, but he was far from relaxed.

Emmett broke his connection with Edward to hug each of them. "How about some wine?" Emmett led the small parade to the kitchen and poured out two more generous glasses of the cab.

Jasper raised his glass first. "To the Cy Young winner!"

"To the _unanimous_ choice," Edward said, correcting him firmly enough that Jasper gave him a touché nod.

"And here's to having a man in Emmett's kitchen who actually knows how to cook," Alice said, lifting her glass to clink.

Edward gave her an unsure smile.

"Oh, I didn't mean that he's brought so many other men here who _couldn't_ cook, just that Emmett is so damn helpless in the kitchen! Good Lord. Jazzy, save me!"

It was Emmett who jumped in. "If you think his polenta is impressive, you should see him juggle!"

"Oh, now _that_ I'd like to see," Alice said, never one to miss a trick.

"How about we save that for the after-dinner entertainment?" Emmett gave Edward a playful wink as he picked up the platter of steaks Edward had prepped for the grill. "Keep me company, sis?"

Mercifully, Alice took the hint, leaving Jas and Edward to get to know each other while she followed Emmett to the deck.

"How's my boy Sawyer liking his new school?"

As Alice regaled him with stories about his nephew, Emmett kept one eye on the kitchen. Jasper had settled onto one of the stools while Edward put the finishing touches on the salad. Through the glass slider, Emmett could see Jasper's unique brand of magic working; Edward's shoulders no longer clung to his ears.

". . . He's adorable, Em. Emmett?"

"Oh, yeah . . . well, of course he is. He has the McCarty bloodline in him."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"What?"

"I was just saying that your boyfriend is adorable."

"Oh, sorry! When did we switch topics from Soy?"

Alice laughed, shaking her head at her distracted brother. "Thank God! I thought you were trying to tell me you share ancestry with Edward!"

Emmett set his full focus on his lover: slender build, reddish hair, fair skin, squared jaw. No, there was zero resemblance to Emmett or his sister. Nor was Edward's calm, even-keeled personality anything like the two of them.

"That's disgusting, Alice."

She let out a loud guffaw. "Can he really juggle?"

Emmett knew he was grinning like a fool, but he really couldn't help himself. "Yep. He's up to four balls now."

Alice sipped her wine, lowered the glass, and smirked at her brother. "You two actually look like it's painful to be this far apart."

Emmett turned the steaks as if the task required all his concentration. _So, it was that obvious._ "We can probably manage . . . unless someone needs her steak cooked past medium-rare."

"Okay, Mr. Flip Steak-flipper. I get it. But I see you, Emmett."

"You always do, sis." A fact that had both relieved and terrified him since childhood.

"I'm happy for you. And medium-rare works for me."

Emmett wrapped his left arm around his sister's shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you."

They sauntered back inside, and Emmett placed the platter of steaks in the center of the dining table, whose main function up to this point had basically been to hold Emmett's mail. Thanks to Edward somehow unearthing decent supplies from Emmett's meager bachelor stash, the table looked not just functional but actually inviting.

"I have placemats?" Emmett asked.

Edward chuckled. "Yes, and napkins!"

"Huh, who knew?"

Alice and Jasper exchanged grins as they delivered bowls of fruit and salad to the table. Heading to the dining room, Edward balanced polenta in one hand and a water pitcher in the other.

"Need a hand, babe?"

Edward paused at the endearment. "Uh, nope . . . all set."

Emmett gave him a sly grin. "I really think the juggling is paying off."

"Everything looks great, Edward." Jasper took the seat next to Alice, leaving Edward and Emmett to sit next to each other.

"Emmett did all the shopping. All I did was chop and stir."

"I'm so glad to hear you're not letting my brother near the knives."

Emmett chuckled. "Told ya." Emmett made a show of opening his napkin, fluffing it with a flick of his wrist, and pressing it across his lap as if he were dining with the President.

"Don't worry, Alice. I'm not about to let anything happen to that arm."

"The professor's a little protective," Emmett said, that not-quite-containable starburst of pride drawing an eye roll from Edward.

Serving bowls circulated around the table; first bites were taken. More compliments were sent Edward's way.

"Emmett's told me about the weekly dinners at your house. That sounds really nice."

"Do you have any siblings?" Jasper asked him.

"Nope, only child."

"Ahh." Jasper gave one of his inscrutable shrink nods and took another bite of steak.

Emmett's curiosity was piqued. "Would you care to elaborate, Doctor Whitlock?"

"You really want to get him going on his birth order theories?"

Jasper chuckled. "Honey, they're not _my_ theories. But I do have to admit, I find it all quite fascinating."

Edward, being the intellectual titan, was equally fascinated. "I'd love to hear your thoughts."

Jasper shot a glance at Emmett. "Just shut me up when it gets boring."

"Don't I always?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, you sure do." Jasper set down his fork and wiped his mouth, settling in for a long story. "The literature would say that because the only child never has to compete for a parent's attention, he ends up with all the support and all the expectations placed upon his shoulders. At the same time, all that adult interaction tends to make him mature for his age, somewhat of a perfectionist, extremely conscientious, and high-achieving."

"Ding, ding, ding, ding! Wow, he's got you pegged, babe."

"And what about the baby of the family?" Edward asked, turning the tables on Emmett.

"It's said that the last-born tends to be more free-spirited, outgoing, often a bit self-centered and attention-seeking."

Edward guffawed. "Doesn't sound like anyone I know."

"Nope, me either," Alice chimed in. "Certainly not one Emmett Seamus McCarty."

Edward's head whipped around. "Seamus?"

"Gee thanks, Alice."

Jasper plowed on, ignoring their chatter and Alice's giggles. "The really good news here is that the male only-child is basically like the universal blood donor; you make a great relationship match with any birth order partner."

Emmett moved his hand to Edward's back. "So basically, I found the Holy Grail here?"

Edward smirked. "You really need to ask your brother-in-law that question?"

The conversation flowed as freely as the wine. When it was time to clear the dishes, Alice followed Edward into the kitchen. Emmett debated whether to perform a search and rescue, but Jasper made the decision for him.

"He'll be fine, Emmett. Give them a little time together."

"Yeah, okay. Why don't we go sit down in the other room?"

The two men picked up their wine glasses and headed for the couch, stopping short when Jasper noticed the three-dimensional chess set on the coffee table.

"Wow, is this the _Star Trek_ chessboard?"

"Yep, Edward got it for me for my birthday."

Jasper crouched so he was at eye-level with the top layer. "Are you actually playing a game of chess with this thing?"

Emmett chuffed. "I'm trying. Don't tell Edward, but I have absolutely no idea what's going on."

"Still, that's pretty incredible. I didn't even know you played two-dimensional chess. Don't you have to sit still for that?"

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "The things we do for love."

Jasper plopped down close to him on the seat. "He seems every bit as great as you said he was."

Emmett glanced into the kitchen, where his sister and Edward were arranging the dessert. "Yeah, he's pretty fucking amazing."

"He's happy at Seven Hills?"

"He really is. He loves teaching."

"I'm sure he's great at it."

"He does seem to have endless patience. He says the professional staff is top-notch though the headmistress sounds a bit abrasive."

"Ah, Rosalie. She's tough, runs a tight ship over there. Your sister and I didn't want to send him to some school where a bunch of entitled parents are allowed to run roughshod over the trained experts."

"Edward would probably kiss you if he heard you say that."

Jasper chuckled. "I guess a kiss on the cheek would be okay."

"Who's kissing whom where and when?" Alice offered Emmett the plate of mint-stick brownies, his favorite.

"Never mind, dear," Jasper answered.

Choosing the biggest piece on the plate, Emmett glanced up to see Edward working his way through the remaining half-brownie in his hand. Chocolate-eating Edward was the next best sight to orgasmic Edward.

Emmett chuckled at him. "Couldn't even wait till she set down the plate?"

"These are delicious, Alice. I'm gonna need the recipe."

"Okay, but you might want to save it for the off-season. Big Mac here tends to go a little overboard with these."

Edward shrugged. "That's okay. I'll just make him run a couple extra miles."

A huge grin spread across Alice's face. "I like this guy. A lot."

Edward shoved in the last bite, doing a very poor job of hiding his self-satisfied smirk behind the chocolate. "So, Alice, Emmett tells me you're the go-to party planner in Seattle."

"I suppose . . . if the client wants a particular kind of party."

"Particular how?"

Alice smiled sweetly at him. "Particularly awesome."

Jasper snorted. "You can tell modesty runs in the family."

Edward shrugged. "When you're good, you're good."

"So"—Alice pressed forward before Emmett or Jasper could intercept the play—"if you're ever in the market for a _wedding . . ._"

"And there it is." Emmett gave Alice a what-the-fuck glare, but she just sat there and smiled, sweet as ever.

"Just something to tuck away."

"Seriously, Alice? I think _you_ need to tuck it away."

Edward's hand closed over Emmett's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "Unless _you're_ freaked out, I mean. I'm fine."

Emmett cleared his throat, separating out the tangle of complicated elements. Was he protecting Edward or himself? From an overbearing sister? The idea of marriage?

Alice sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go there. I guess I got a little carried away. It's just that Emmett's never introduced us to anyone he's dated before."

Emmett snorted. "Gee! I wonder why!"

Jasper reached an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'm sure they know you didn't mean any harm."

"Of course," Edward answered, squeezing Emmett's shoulder when he didn't respond.

"No worries, Alice." Emmett blew out a deep breath. "I might be a little sensitive."

The three of them went silent while Emmett wrestled with his conscience.

"Don't you think I wish I could take my boyfriend out for an actual date? God knows, he deserves to be treated like a king."

"Em, you know I don't care—"

"Don't you think I want to bring him as my partner to the food pantry tomorrow when the team packs Thanksgiving dinners for the homeless? Have him next to me when the guys get together to goof around? Hold his fucking hand walking down the street? Or, God forbid, actually kiss him in public?"

Agitation flooded Emmett's system with too much adrenaline to process. Even Edward's fingers moving through Emmett's hair couldn't soothe him.

Alice ventured into the murky waters first. "At the risk of digging myself into a bigger hole, do you really think that after winning the World Series, the Mariners would seriously not renew your contract just because you're gay?"

"I'd love to think everything would be okay, but we've all seen it happen again and again. It's not just the owners; it's the fans, the endorsements . . ."

Edward scooted impossibly closer to him on the couch. "Emmett, I want those things too, but if it doesn't happen for a month or a year or five years, I can live with it. If I have to stay in the shadows to be with you, it's a price I'm willing to pay. Please tell me you know I'm okay with what we have."

Emmett turned toward his lover, and their guests faded into the background. "I know you are, baby, and that breaks my heart even more. You deserve better than this."

"Stop, please. Let me ask you something. Do I look unhappy to you?"

Emmett chuffed. "You don't exactly look happy."

"That's because you're tearing yourself up over this. How can I make you understand I've been deliriously happy since you answered my tweet?"

In the quiet that followed, Emmett gazed deeply into Edward's pleading, sad eyes and searched his heart for the right answer.

"Emmett?" Jasper's gentle voice entered the conversation. "Mind if I offer another perspective?"

Emmett turned to him gratefully, throwing open his hands. "Please."

"What I'm hearing Edward say is that he's okay. In the brief time we've spent together, he hasn't exhibited any behavior that would lead me to doubt his ability to make that judgment. In fact, he is one of the most rational human beings I've ever met."

Emmett glanced at Edward, and they shared a chuckle. "Agreed."

"Good." Jasper took a breath and smiled. "In that case, why don't you trust what your partner is telling you, and stop beating yourself up about this?"

Edward chimed in, a huge smile on his face. "I like this guy. A lot."

Emmett's head dipped forward under the weight of the moment. Edward dropped a soft kiss on Emmett's forehead, supporting his head while Emmett considered Jasper's advice.

Nearly whispering, Emmett confessed his biggest fear. "I'm afraid you're going to suffocate in my closet."

Edward cupped Emmett's chin. "How can I suffocate if you're in there with me? You're all I need to breathe."

Alice whimpered, quickly covering her mouth with her hand when the boys looked over at her. "I'm sorry. That was just too sweet for words."

Jasper stood, walked over to his wife, and wrapped his arms around her. "I believe we have officially overstayed our welcome."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Emmett at the grocery store...now there was a funny concept (in my head). Good ol' Jasper, eh? And what about Alice, dropping the M bomb? Sisters can be so rude! **XXX~BOH**


	43. Chapter 43

**XXX CHAPTER 43 XXX**

"Can I interest you in more stuffing?"

Emmett rubbed his belly. "Only if you can help me give birth to this watermelon."

"Please tell me you saved room for Mom's pumpkin pie."

Scanning the wreckage of Edward's overly crammed table for two—platters of sliced turkey, trademark Mamó McCarty yams topped with toasted mini-marshmallows, homemade cranberry sauce á la Esme, and the token green vegetable—Emmett shook his head. Maybe if he hadn't pigged out last night at Alice's . . . "I'm sorry. I just don't think I can do it."

Edward chuckled. "Next time, we'll start with dessert."

Emmett let out a large belch as he stood. "There won't be a next time. I'm never eating again."

"Pshh yeah. I predict you'll have your nose in the refrigerator by halftime."

The two waddled into the kitchen with dirty dishes and mounds of leftovers. Emmett took his usual place at the sink while Edward dealt with the mysteries of plastic food containers. Only the professor could wrangle the geometry so they'd all fit inside his fridge.

"Do you think your mother would share her stuffing recipe, or is it some generations-old McCarty family secret?"

Emmett chuckled. "I'm pretty sure it's a Pepperidge family recipe, but we can ask."

"Hmm, I guess next year you'll have to try my mom's, and we can decide which one we like better."

A couple of months ago, Emmett might have registered the "next year" with a flutter of excitement without picking up the wistful note in his boyfriend's voice, but he'd since learned to be on alert for subtle cues that all was not well in Edwardsville. It sucked they couldn't do holidays together, but until Emmett could figure out how to introduce Edward to Sawyer without making a mess of everything, this was how it had to be, separate family celebrations with a lame reenactment the day after. At least their families' traditional foods had the chance to mix on Edward's table and now in their bellies.

Emmett glanced at his boyfriend, busy scooping stuffing into the perfectly sized container as if it required all his mental focus. _Ugh_.

"Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am for you?" Emmett figured the best way to show his appreciation was to continue sponging and rinsing the dirty dishes.

"Yep. A few times."

_Oh boy._

"Edward?"

Still not looking up, Edward answered. "Hmm?"

"You wanna talk about this?"

"Nope. Nothing to say. It is what it is." At least he'd done Emmett the favor of not playing dumb about it.

"Yeah." Emmett had learned by now that silence was the best way to get Edward to open up, so he bit his tongue and waited.

Edward sighed heavily, finally giving in and meeting Emmett's gaze. "I just really missed having you with me yesterday. I don't know how I'm gonna make it through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."

"How about we set aside Christmas Day for each other?"

"What about your traditional Christmas morning pj time with Sawyer? He'll be devastated."

_Ouch. _Caught between a rock and a hard place. "I don't want you to wake up alone on Christmas."

Edward frowned. "I'm a big boy. He's a kid."

"Okay, fine. I'll do Christmas morning with Soy, and then you and I will spend the rest of the day together." Emmett stepped closer and dropped his forehead on Edward's shoulder. "This fucking sucks. I'm so tempted to just say 'Fuck it' right now."

"You can't."

Lifting his head, Emmett challenged him. "Oh yeah? Why not?"

"You have a plan. Stick to the plan."

"We don't know if or when the Mariners are going to renew me. What if they offer a one-year contract? What if they don't? Jesus."

"Baby"—Edward cupped the back of Emmett's neck with both hands, forcing Emmett's gaze to meet his own—"that's crazy talk. You're the hottest commodity in the league right now. They're going to want to keep you very happy for a long, long time. Have a little faith . . . and a little patience. Don't mind my moment of melancholy; it'll pass. So what if we can't spend a couple Hallmark holidays together? We have every day now that you're not working." Edward's lips curled into a smile. "All day long, every day."

"I knew you liked my sexting."

"Pshh. I spend more time deleting your messages than I do grading papers. I swear, one of these days, you're gonna set my iPhone on fire."

"Hey! Look who's talking, Professor McFilthy."

Edward's tongue slid into the pocket of his cheek. His repertoire had expanded significantly since the start of school. "That's your fault. You corrupted me."

"Mea culpa . . . again."

Edward leaned forward and closed his lips over Emmett's mouth. "I'm still not complaining."

"_Welllll_, you were, a little."

"I guess I was." Edward sighed. "I think I'm ready for a vacation."

"We should go somewhere tropical and sit our asses on a beach for a week and get served by sexy cabana boys."

"That's a sweet fantasy, Em."

"No, I mean it."

Edward leaned back against the counter and folded his hands over his stomach. "Oh yeah? Where'd you have in mind? Is there some place in the world where they haven't heard of baseball?"

"Guess we'd have to rule out the Dominican Republic."

Edward snorted. "Probably."

"How about . . . or, nah . . . Wait! I've got it! Oh, no . . . that doesn't work. Shit."

Emmett scratched his head. "There must be some way. Okay, what if we went with a bunch of guys? I'm sure Fuller and a few of the others have some time on their hands. You'd just be one of the guys."

"Mmhmm, until it came time to go to our rooms."

"What? Those bums are all used to bunking up. Nobody'd think a thing of it."

"Just to play devil's advocate here, what happens down the road when you decide to come out? You don't think they'll be pissed off to find out they were on a romantic junket with you and your gay lover?"

"To be honest, I think Fuller's gonna blow a gasket when he finds out he's been sleeping with a homo all this time."

Edward shot Emmett his _I-rest-my-case_ face.

"Okay, okay, gimme a minute here." Emmett regrouped, sifting through the myriad of terrible options until a not-so-crazy idea occurred to him. "We go with another couple—a straight couple. I could see if Alice and Jasper can get away for a few days. Or maybe even Tammy and Jake."

"Yes! Because _then_ we won't look like a couple at all. Face it—there's no way to win this."

"All right. Fine. No sandy beach anywhere alone or with other humans. Hmm, in that case, I think we have to go to Plan B."

An amused smirk planted itself on Edward's face. "Which is . . .?"

"My parents have a cabin on Whidbey Island."

Edward's head jutted forward, and his jaw dropped open. "For real?"

"Yes, for real." Emmett reached for Edward's chin with a chuckle, brushing his thumb across Edward's lower lip as Emmett tucked the fallen chin back into place. "The scenery is spectacular. Even in the winter, the barren landscape has a quiet charm. I've gone back a few times over the years when I've needed to clear my head."

"I gotta say, you're making a pretty damn convincing argument here. My head could use some serious clearing."

Emmett paused momentarily and attempted to visualize the interior of his boyfriend's complicated head. He had to assume all the billions of bits of grey matter would be stored in their own neat compartments, but still, the man clearly stockpiled more data than human brains were accustomed to managing. That shit had to get tiring. "I can't even imagine."

"And you're fairly certain we'll be safe there from prying eyes?"

"My family's been going there for years. The good people of Whidbey know how to give me space. This time of year, it's all full-time residents. No tourists in their right mind would choose Whidbey as a vacation destination during rainy season."

Edward chuckled. "Unless they wanted to stay in bed all day."

Emmett's mouth opened into a wide grin. "How'd you know?"

"Sounds perfect to me."

"In all fairness, I have to warn you—it's not the Ritz. I can't promise you a cabana boy."

Edward's eyes turned in an instant, glazing over with that sexy voodoo he worked so thoroughly on Emmett. "I'll settle for a cabin boy."

"Dang, are you getting kinky on me, Professor?"

"Not necessarily. I was actually just picturing a hot bath and maybe breakfast in bed, but I certainly wouldn't rule out anything kinky."

Emmett grinned. "I take that as a yes on Whidbey, then?"

"Oh, I'd say that's a _hell_ yes."

"Fantastic! Let's look at your vacation schedule tomorrow, and I'll tell my folks the dates we want."

An idea popped into Edward's head, lighting him up like the cheesy star they'd bought to top their first shared Christmas tree. "Sounds like the perfect place to ring in the New Year."

"Now there's a thought."

"I have another thought. Why don't we leave these dishes and go watch the game until we fall into a deep tryptophan sleep on the couch like every other red-blooded American?"

"Another excellent idea. But before we do . . . did someone mention pumpkin pie?"

**XXX**

Emmett was waiting outside when the metallic blue Volvo pulled up in front of his building. He tossed his leather bag into the back seat next to Edward's duffel, a beast nearly twice the size of his own, and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Holy shit, dude! How many dead bodies do you have in that bag?"

Edward gave him a long-suffering eye-roll. "I brought my hiking boots and a few sweaters."

"We're only going for three nights. You need _a few_ sweaters?"

Edward nosed the car out onto the beach road. "Mmhmm. The one Alice gave me for Christmas, the one your mom gave me for Christmas, and the one my mom gave both of us for Christmas. How could I choose?"

He'd answered so matter-of-factly, Emmett did a double take. "Indeed. I don't even want to know how many pairs of underwear you brought."

"Six."

"Okay, I guess I'm curious now. Why six?"

"One for each morning and another to change into after the daytime activity and a shower."

Emmett shifted in his seat, folded his arms, and smiled. "I see the flaw in your reasoning."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You won't be needing any underwear for our nighttime activity. We're not leaving the cabin until morning. I am gonna fuck you silly on every surface in the place."

"Doesn't that sound romantic!"

Emmett grinned. "I was planning to light a fire first."

"I hope you haven't forgotten my hot tub and breakfast in bed, cabin boy."

Tapping a fingertip to his temple, Emmett answered, "It's all up here. Don't you worry."

"Did you want to hear about my socks, too?" Edward asked, maneuvering onto the West Seattle Bridge with a little smirk on his face.

"Not particularly. Did you pack your travel chess set?"

"Of course."

"This could be the end of your reign, you know. I finished volume one of the Alexander Alekhine, and I brought volume two with me." When Emmett had first unwrapped the two thick hardcovers, he'd appreciated the sentiment behind Edward's selection of his Christmas gift. Emmett had no idea the books were loaded with so much more than strategic chess moves until he dove in the next day and found the pages dripping with the psychology behind competing—always a great interest of his, as his partner well knew.

"You already finished the first book?"

Emmett laughed, because yes, it was absurd how quickly he'd torn through the 285 dense pages, and he couldn't help his pride in the accomplishment. "I know! I surprised myself, too."

"What'd you think of it?"

_And here's where having a genius for a boyfriend really pays off; we can actually have an intelligent conversation about ideas. You done good, Big Mac._ "He really seems to understand what it takes to be a champion. He can find an attack move where most players would see nothing."

"Right! 'Attack preconditions without commitment.'" Edward was getting good and worked up, squirming in his seat, gesticulating madly over the steering wheel.

Emmett fed the addiction as only he could do, whether it was riling Edward over statistics or locker room fantasies or deep philosophical concepts. "And the humility of the man really comes through in his annotations, constantly praising his opponents' moves and criticizing his own. I like that a lot. Too many guys have their heads stuck so far up their asses they can't see the game objectively. Nobody improves from that position."

Edward sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Are we still talking about chess here?"

"Isn't that the beauty of this? I can totally see where his concepts would apply to baseball." Checking out Edward's widening grin, Emmett mock-scolded him. "Don't think your subtle coaching has gone unnoticed, Professor."

"When the disciple is ready, the Master will appear."

"Thank you, Buddha."

"Actually, that quote is attributable to the Theosophical Society, but that's neither here nor there."

_This must be how Edward would look at a _Star Trek_ convention—fired up and turned on_. "Pretty hot stuff. Maybe I should strip off your clothes and read you a few passages when we get to the cabin."

Sensing the note of sarcasm, Edward cast a sideways glance at Emmett but only long enough to give him an _I-call-bullshit_ lift of his brow. "Wait till you get into his later years in volume two. It'll blow your mind."

Emmett sighed. "How am I ever supposed to beat you at chess when you already know all the stuff you're teaching me?"

"You're not." Edward faced forward, but the corner of his smug smirk rode up his cheek and gave him away.

"So, how are you making out with your reading? Has the_ Guide for the Perplexed_ unperplexed you?"

"I think I'm actually more perplexed than ever, but I'm enjoying it . . . now."

Angling his body toward the driver, Emmett played the straight man. "Oh? Did you two have a rough start?"

"Are you aware that Schumacher contends that numbers are phantoms of true knowledge? And he doesn't like Descartes!"

"Uh-oh." Perhaps Emmett should've read a bit deeper than the back cover before selecting the book as Edward's gift. "So have you ripped it in two and thrown it in the dumpster, then?"

Edward chuckled. "Nope, we worked it out."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"I am currently elevating my 'level of being' and 'exercising my power of self-awareness.'"

A soft groan escaped Emmett. "Maybe buying each other books for Christmas wasn't such a great idea."

"Too late now, my friend," Edward said with a grin.

XXX

An occasional car traveling north on 525 invaded the still winter air outside. Edward was fidgety, a fish out of water. "We drove through Deception Pass twenty-five minutes ago. How much longer to Freeland?"

The island had yet to work its magic on Edward, but Emmett was confident that after one night at the cabin, his boyfriend would be a new man—not that Emmett wanted a new man, just the refreshed and relaxed version of this stressed-out guy sitting next to him.

"Have a little patience. It's worth the ride, I promise."

"Did that sign just say, 'Muscle and Arm Farm'? What the hell? They're harvesting body parts? I think I want to go home."

"Easy, there. It's just a family-owned working farm and garden store. I promise, we're going to make it out alive."

"That's a really creepy name." Edward glared at the sign as they drove past, as if making sure they weren't being followed by amputated zombies. "I'm officially ready to see this cabin you've been telling me about for the last hour."

"Well, you're going to have to wait a little longer because we need to stop at the general store, or we're gonna starve to death."

"Actually, we don't." Edward turned a self-satisfied smile in Emmett's direction. "I have provisions in the trunk."

"Aren't you the sneaky one?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"That you did." Emmett gave him a long, appreciative smile. "In that case, take a right when you get to Double Bluff Road."

Emmett could feel the familiar twinge of anticipation as the Volvo made the turn onto the access road. Tires crunched over gravel, a sound that triggered happy childhood vacation memories, rowdy weekends with school friends, and now, the peaceful, secluded respite he and Edward had been craving.

"Here it is, second driveway on the right."

Edward's face lit up as the cottage came into view. Even in the literal dead of winter, when none of the summer flowers were in bloom and most of the trees stood bare, the place had a charm that could not be equaled in the bustling city.

"This is fantastic!" Edward practically hopped out of the car. "Is that an outdoor shower?"

"Yes," Emmett answered with a chuckle, "but it might be a wee bit cold this time of year." He could hardly keep up with Edward as he bounced down the stone path leading to the backyard.

"I think I could live on this patio, just drop my ass into one of these Adirondack chairs and never get up again."

"I'll know where to look for you if you go missing."

Poking around the perimeter of the property, Edward spied the gate and the grass trail leading away from the house. "Where's this go?" he asked, but he had already pushed past the high grasses to the marsh. _Mr. Curious._

"That's Deer Lagoon. It's a bird sanctuary. You'll see the telescope set up on the second floor of the cabin."

Edward turned to give him a grin. "You expect me to believe you use it to look at birds?"

Emmett grabbed him from behind and nipped at Edward's ear. "It's Mom's, you pervert."

Tensing in his grip, Edward whispered, "Is this safe?"

"Yes. There's one other house on this end of the street, and it's an elderly couple who live in Florida this time of year. We might get a nosy eagle flying by, but that's about it."

Seemingly unconvinced, Edward pulled out of Emmett's arms. "How far away is the beach?"

"A ten-minute walk . . . or a five-minute jog."

Edward smiled. "Can we take a run this afternoon?"

"Sure. Run, hike, whatever you like. The island is your oyster."

"Great. Maybe we can unpack and have some lunch first?"

Emmett tipped his chin toward the house. "C'mon, let's get settled."

XXX

Edward's "provisions" turned out to be two huge Styrofoam coolers filled with milk, beer, and container after container of prepared salads, fruits and vegetables, cooked pasta, meatballs in marinara, and other things Emmett couldn't identify through the plastic.

"When did you make all this stuff? Have you been socking away food for weeks or what?"

"I have a spare fridge in my garage. I shopped and cooked while you were out with Sawyer the other day."

"You made all this food in one afternoon?"

Edward grinned. "It's not that hard. You just make a plan and—"

"Never mind." Emmett waved away the answer with a chuckle. "Let's just put the stuff away so I can get you naked . . . I mean, show you my room."

Emmett had probably never worked faster in his life. Blame it on the island air or Edward's sexy bomber jacket, or the fact that they'd slept apart last night so both could pack, but Emmett was needy, and his patience was wearing thin. Grabbing Edward by the hand, Emmett dragged him down the hall until they reached the bedroom door plastered with baseball decals.

"Hmm, lemme guess . . ."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Emmett wasted no time tossing aside Edward's jacket and yanking open his belt buckle. Edward chuckled and worked off Emmett's shirt while the two struggled to keep their balance.

Emmett stepped out of his boxers and dragged a very naked Edward toward his bed. "Watch your head," he warned.

A bit alarmed, Edward spun around to see where he was about to land. "Bunk beds? Seriously?" He burst out laughing. "How old are you? Six?"

"Shush! Sawyer sleeps in here now when Alice and Jasper come out to visit my folks."

"Okay, fine, but don't they have any other beds in the place?"

"Hmm, let's see. Whose bed would you like me to fuck you in, my sister's or my mother's?"

Stumped for the moment, Edward agreed. "Fine, but you're sleeping on the top."

"Yes." Straddling Edward's hips, Emmett shoved Edward onto his back. "On top _of you_."

The bed frame rocked and squealed under their weight. Edward dissolved into another fit of laughter. "I hope your parents' insurance is all paid up. We are going down!"

"Oh! Excellent idea, Professor!" With that, Emmett crawled into position over Edward's head and dropped forward onto his palms.

"Hey! Where's the romantic fire you promised me?"

Emmett chuffed. "Between my legs! And if you don't put it out soon, this whole house is gonna go up in flames! How do you think you're gonna feel next time my folks come over for dinner, and you have to tell them you set their vacation home on fire, huh?"

"God, you're a trip."

The last thing Emmett said before swallowing down Edward's cock was, "Thank you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **So their holidays were less than idyllic this year, but with any luck, this will be their last year apart. :) There's a link to the Whidbey Island home in my FB group if you'd like to see for yourself. Looks like a gorgeous place to visit. And we're not done with their holiday just yet... see you Friday?

**XXX ~BOH**


	44. Chapter 44

**XXX CHAPTER 44 XXX**

Later that night near the roaring fire, they finished off generous bowls of homemade apple crisp. As promised, Emmett had already "fucked Edward silly" on a good many surfaces, including the soft leather couch currently supporting their bare asses.

Emmett scraped the bottom of his bowl, devoured the last sugary crumbles, and set his dish next to the tube of lube sitting on the coffee table. Rubbing his belly, he let out a deeply contented sigh. "That was way too good. I really hope you didn't bring more."

Edward's smile beamed across their intertwined legs. "The rest is in my freezer at home."

Emmett groaned. "No more desserts when we get back."

"Is that your New Year's resolution?"

Chuckling, Emmett answered, "One of 'em."

"Oh?" Edward jiggled his foot in Emmett's lap. "How many do you have?"

Emmett snagged the toes tickling his thigh. "A bunch."

Edward grinned, and Emmett had a strong feeling they'd be revisiting the subject. "Are you really worried about your weight?"

"I've put on eight pounds in two months. If I keep this up, I'll be twenty pounds heavier when I report to spring training."

Edward clambered across the couch and wedged his ass between Emmett's legs. "While I appreciate the elegance of your extrapolation, I don't think your weight gain is going to continue as a linear function of time."

Closing his arms around Edward's belly, Emmett said, "You're making me hard."

"Jesus. Again?"

Emmett flexed his hips playfully against Edward's back. "Don't worry; I'm too tired to move."

"Thank God!" Edward's soft chuckle shook the cushion they were sharing. "I think we stayed in the hot tub too long after our run. Made you a little woozy."

"I think your skintight running pants made me woozy!" Emmett pressed his lips to the fire-kissed skin of Edward's neck. "Anyway, it's a good woozy."

"Mmhmm." Edward's head slumped back against Emmett's shoulder. "I don't ever want to leave this couch."

Emmett felt the edges of his lips curl into a smile. "Maybe we should just sleep out here."

"I vote yes. Think the fire will be okay?"

"Sure. Might get a little cold in here when it goes out though."

"Then, I guess we'll have to rub two sticks together and start our own fire." Edward chuffed softly at his own joke.

"Oh, you're mighty proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Edward turned his head and closed his smile over Emmett's lips. "Mmm."

_Aw, shit. _Now Emmett really was hard. Running his fingers through Edward's hair, Emmett slid his tongue inside Edward's mouth. They kissed lazily, a kiss with no agenda beyond pure contentment at being fully present for each other.

"How about you?" Emmett asked. "Any big resolutions for 2015?"

"Of course."

Emmett chuckled to himself. Had he really thought for one second that Edward didn't have a plan to improve himself? "Would you care to share?"

"I guess the biggest one is to show more patience with my students."

Since Edward had started teaching, he'd related several stories of what he'd considered failures in the classroom. One of his Math Concepts students was particularly challenging, the kind of kid who tried to mask his failure to understand the material by acting out in class. No matter what Emmett said to reassure him, Edward felt as though the boy's failures were his own.

Rather than invalidate Edward's feelings, Emmett tightened his arms around his lover in quiet support. They sat staring into the flames, each lost in his own thoughts until Emmett spoke again.

"I want 2014 to be the last year I spend in the closet. No matter what." The words passed heavily across his tongue, as if it required all of his remaining energy to force them out of his mouth.

"Amen," Edward replied softly.

Emmett burrowed his nose into Edward's hair, as if he might find refuge there from the implications of his promise. Edward's arms closed around Emmett's in a kind of inside-out hug as they huddled together, each drawing and supplying love and comfort. When Emmett lifted his face, his eyes were moist with tears.

Edward cleared his throat. "I need to work on keeping my sarcastic comments to myself around my boss."

Grateful for the release of tension, Emmett chuckled. Dr. Rosalie Hale had proven to be quite the force, and poor Edward often came home scratching his head about how to handle her.

_My turn again. _"I want to read more books in 2015—and actually finish them."

"I want to perfect your mother's popovers."

That last one made Emmett smile. "Maybe we better stop before we overcommit ourselves."

Edward turned his face toward the fire. "I have one more," he said.

The reflected flicker of the fire rippled and flashed off Edward's cheeks. His jaw was squared, all business. Instinct kicked in; Emmett's chest fluttered though he'd told himself to stop his silly worrying every time Edward became serious.

Emmett braced them both by tightening his thighs around Edward's body. "Go for it."

Edward pulled in a deep breath and pivoted so his gaze locked on Emmett's. "I want to work on my phobias. I want to sit on your balcony with you and have a drink without feeling like I'm gonna throw up or have a panic attack."

The tears in Emmett's eyes spilled down his cheeks. "That's amazing and incredibly brave. Are you sure?"

"Yes." Edward's tone held no reservation. He'd thought about this and had made his decision, and Emmett knew he'd follow through.

"Would you like to talk to Jasper about recommending one of his colleagues?"

"I would."

Completely overcome by emotion, Emmett pulled Edward to his lips and prayed his kiss would communicate where words failed. Edward wiped the tears from Emmett's cheeks with the soft pad of his thumb, pulling back from their kiss just enough to say, "I'm ready, Emmett. I want to do this."

His response came out a strangled mess. "Do you have . . . _any idea . . ._ how much I love you?"

Edward smiled, the warmth in his expression drawing a visceral response from Emmett. "Yes, I actually think I do."

XXX

Emmett couldn't have said how long he'd dozed; he woke to the last gasps of orange embers glowing in the fireplace. Judging by the pitch black room, he guessed they were somewhere inside the post-midnight, pre-dawn stretch that belonged uniquely to new parents and ardent lovers.

Emmett glanced at the man nestled against his side, sleeping peacefully despite the chill in the room. After the mad rush of Christmas shopping and the flurry of parties Emmett and Edward had attended separately for family, faculty, and team, Edward needed this break more than he knew, and it killed Emmett to disturb his sleep.

_If only I could wedge my arm out . . ._

One eye squinted open and located Emmett in the dark. "Mmm, hey. What time is it?"

Seizing the moment, Emmett slipped his arm out and worked his leg out from under Edward. "It's go-back-to-sleep o'clock."

"Where are you going?"

"To get a damn blanket. The fire went out."

"Hurry up! It's freezing in here."

Chuckling at Edward's grumbled complaints, Emmett felt his way through the back hall to the linen closet. In addition to the throw blanket, he grabbed a pair of pillows and an extra hand towel—just in case.

When Emmett returned to the living room, he found Edward sitting on the couch, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Emmett tossed a pillow at him. "Sorry, I didn't really think through the bed situation."

Edward shrugged. "This is fine."

Emmett followed his pillow onto the cushion next to Edward and settled the blanket over them both. "Yeah, it's not as if I have to pitch tomorrow."

Nodding, Edward added, "Or stand up in front of a classroom of 11-year-olds."

"It's a good thing we're both cuddlers."

Edward snorted. "You mean, it's a good thing I don't mind if you suffocate me in my sleep!"

"Yep, that's exactly what I meant." Emmett climbed across Edward's lap. "We need to get some body heat going here."

"_Orrrr_ . . . you could add a couple more logs to the fire."

Emmett chuckled. "Always so logical. Okay, okay!" Emmett slid off Edward, taking the blanket around his shoulders with him. "Emmett build fire. Huh huh!" He beat his fists against his chest until Edward groaned out loud.

"We better bring in some more wood tomorrow," Edward said.

Emmett craned his neck so he could waggle his eyebrows at Edward. "I've got mine ready."

"Of course you do."

"Just sayin'."

The smoldering ashes found new life, lighting the room with bright white heat. Emmett stood and clapped the wood crumbs off his hands. He looked up to find Edward's intense gaze fixed straight ahead, on the slice of Emmett's midsection bared between the two sides of the fluffy throw carelessly draped around his shoulders.

Stepping closer, Emmett shrugged the blanket away. He was wide awake and rock hard. "May I help you?"

Edward swallowed with great effort and slid his tongue across his lower lip. "Hmm?" Edward's gaze drifted upward until it met Emmett's.

"Professor?" _Say something._

"I don't see the extra eight pounds anywhere."

Emmett tried to resist the urge to tighten his abs and suck in his gut. "It's dark in here."

"I can see you perfectly." Edward scooted forward to the edge of the couch and reached around the back of Emmett's legs, gripping him with fingers that crept around the top of his thighs. Edward's mouth hovered just inches from the tip of Emmett's erection. "Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined being here with you like this . . . being able to look at your body whenever I want . . . or touch you . . . or show you how much I want you."

_Sweet Jesus! Worshipful, swoony Edward was in da cabin! _

Emmett held his ground while Edward leaned forward and kissed his way from hip bone to nipple, swirling his tongue in a seductive circle around the peak. Emmett couldn't look away as Edward licked a line across his chest to the other nipple and dropped soft, sweet kisses in a line to his belly.

Edward's head tipped back; their eyes met. Emmett thought he'd never seen so much longing in another person's eyes, but he was positive his own looked the same.

"Hey." Tugging gently on Edward's hair, Emmett pulled his head away.

"Why'd you stop me?"

"It's time for romance. Gimme a second here."

Edward gave him a curious smile. "Take your time."

Emmett scooped up the blanket and fluffed it out along the carpeted floor in front of the fireplace. "Okay, I'm ready."

Edward chuckled. "That's it? No violins? No rose petals? No white stallion?"

"Um . . ." Gesturing at his erection, Emmett said, "I'm not enough of a stud for you?"

"Oh my god." Edward joined Emmett, standing together with the soft blanket under their feet. "I know what to get you for Christmas next year—_A Guide for the Romantically Perplexed_."

"Aw, c'mon, Professor. Look at all this—secluded cabin, roaring fire, naked boyfriend sweeping you off your feet . . ."

In one swift motion, Emmett swooped Edward off the floor and into his arms.

Startled, Edward wrapped his arms around Emmett's neck. "Holy shit!"

"Whatsa matter, you've never been held in your lover's embrace?" Emmett gave him an outlandish waggle of his eyebrows that set them both off laughing.

"Okay, okay, you're romantic as hell! Put me down before you hurt yourself!"

"_Now_ who's the unromantic one?" Shooting him a mock glare, Emmett dropped to one knee and lowered Edward onto his back. "Prepare for your scorching kiss, my love."

Emmett straddled Edward's hips and closed his mouth over Edward's smirk, adding extra tongue for good measure. A funny thing happened while Emmett was messing around: the kiss turned serious. Emmett was sure Edward noticed it, too—the moment their playful pawing became tender caresses; their porno moans turned needy; their hearts entered the game.

Seeing Emmett stretch for the lube, Edward rolled onto all-fours. Emmett gave him a love tap on his ass. "We're doing this the old-fashioned way, loverboy."

With an amused grin, Edward flopped onto his back. "Do with me what you will, stud."

"Oh, I will." Emmett propped Edward's right leg onto his shoulder and worked his lubed-up finger into Edward's hole. "Feel good?"

Edward answered with a series of soft grunts, which deepened as Emmett stretched and prepared him.

"I cannot wait to get inside your sweet tunnel of love."

"Ugh! Have you been Googling cheesy romantic lines, or does this come naturally?"

"Oh, it's all me," he answered with a wink. Emmett rose to his knees and lifted Edward's other ankle onto his shoulder. Pressing forward, he penetrated the tight ring and eased inside. "Ahh, _fuck, _feels so good."

Edward's staccato grunts joined together, forming long, continuous moans. Emmett wrapped his hand around Edward's shaft and stroked him. They settled into a rhythm. Emmett thrust deeper; Edward rocked beneath him.

"Are you close?"

"Yesssss," Edward hissed, his forehead crinkled with the effort of holding back.

"I'm waiting for you . . . want to feel you around me when you come . . ."

"Oh, _fuck_!" Edward's eyes pinched closed, and he held his breath while the hot semen spurted onto his chest. The muscles holding Emmett inside clenched and released, compounding the delicious pressure and tugging him over the edge. He released in three long sprays, holding on tight to Edward's ankles as the waves of pleasure crashed over him and took his breath away.

Emmett dropped his forehead to Edward's rapidly rising and falling chest until the oxygen returned to both of them. He flashed Edward a very happy smile. "How was that for romance?"

Dazed and exhausted, Edward answered. "On a scale of one to ten, you were a million."

Emmett chuckled. "I think I must've fucked your brains out because that makes no sense."

"I need sleep." Edward closed his eyes to illustrate the point.

"Hang on. I'm not done yet."

Edward's eyes popped open in mild horror. "What?"

Gently releasing Edward's legs, Emmett pushed up onto his hands, leaned in, and left a tender kiss on Edward's lips. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too, a million sixty-nine."

XXX

With the Alekhine volume open beneath his fingers, Emmett reenacted the Rubinstein attack on the chessboard between them, carefully advancing his black pieces in response to Edward's rote movements. As he slid the bishop into checkmate position, Emmett glanced at his opponent, prepared to gloat over his pre-ordained win, only to find Edward's eyelids drooping closed.

Chuckling to himself, Emmett said, "Well, I guess the only way I'll ever beat you is while you're half-asleep, playing a game I've already won before we started."

"Huh? Oh . . . yeah, good job." Edward rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Want to try the McCutcheon next?"

Emmett rounded Edward's kitchen table and pulled out Edward's chair. "The only move I want to try is getting you to bed. You're exhausted."

"But I wanted to make it to midnight! We were gonna watch the ball drop together."

Even as Edward protested, Emmett hoisted him out of the chair. "If you're a good boy, you can watch my balls drop when I take off my underwear."

Edward was awake enough to give him a side-eye glare. "Very festive."

"C'mon, Edward. This is why we came home a day early, remember? To get a good night's sleep on a nice, comfy bed. It's already 2015 in New York anyway. Seattle will catch up by the time we wake up."

"Fine," he grumbled, doing his best zombie impersonation as Emmett dragged him along.

Edward climbed into bed first and sank into his pillow with a loud sigh. Snuggling in behind him, Emmett pulled Edward's hips against his groin. "This was a good idea."

"Spooning?"

"No. Well, yes, but doing it here. I don't think my shoulder could've handled another night on the couch."

"I don't think my ass could've handled you keeping me up all night again."

"Poor baby." Emmett dropped a kiss on Edward's shoulder.

"Hey, Em . . . do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

"You can't be serious! I've been on top of you and inside you for seventy-two hours straight."

"True."

Emmett reached for Edward's hand and intertwined their fingers. "What's up, Doc?"

"I was just wondering, even though it's none of my business really, what on earth are you going to do with a thirty-million-dollar salary if Scott is successful with his negotiations? I mean, the numbers just boggle my mind."

Emmett sighed. That Edward could still think anything was none of his business was a discussion for later. "Well, right off the top, Uncle Sam gets half."

"Okay, fifteen million is still a pretty large chunk of change."

"Yep. I've had my eye on this waterfront lot in Langley for my folks. The cabin is fine, but Dad's always wanted a place with its own dock, and as you could see, the accommodations are a little cramped these days. I haven't said anything . . ."

Edward squeezed Emmett's hand. "Your secret is safe with me."

"I know. I pay into a trust fund each year for Sawyer, but Alice and Jasper are both doing well, so I don't need to worry about the boy's education. There's certainly nothing I need right now for myself. Hell, I already own a truck I can't use."

"How are you set for the future? Is somebody watching out for you?"

"Not officially, but I have most of my money socked away in CD's and a small percentage in stocks. I own my car, and I paid off my mortgage in June. I don't believe in debt."

"That's smart. A lot of guys in your position would be mortgaged up to their eyeballs."

"I don't know what the future holds. One injury could be the end of the line, not to mention poor performance. I can't put that kind of pressure on myself."

"That sounds wise."

"Are you some kind of investing whiz kid? Of course you must be, with your love of numbers. What am I talking about?"

"Actually, I'm awful, not that I have anything to invest anyway. I'm way too risk-averse to be effective. I'm just asking because I wouldn't want you to get taken advantage of. My dad has people he trusts if you ever need a name."

"Sure. Thanks."

The heater clicked off, infusing the still room with a pregnant pause. Edward shifted beside him.

Emmett squeezed his hand. "Did you have something else on your mind?"

He didn't say no right away, which meant the answer was yes. Emmett bit down on the inside of his cheek and waited.

"At the risk of being _really_ intrusive . . ."

Emmett cleared his throat in lieu of saying something lewd.

"Okay, fine." Edward continued, his voice a bit firmer than before. "Have you ever considered the possibility of a 'Mini Mac' somewhere down the road?"

_Oh, _that_. _"Honestly? No. The concept of family always brought to mind my parents or Alice's family. I'm a part of all that, but I've always seen myself as the end of the line."

"Literally."

"Right. I mean, you know how much I love Soy, but how was I gonna fit a kid into my life? Assuming I keep playing ball for a while—"

"Which you _will_!"

"Okay." Emmett couldn't help but smile when his favorite cheerleader started shaking those pom-poms. "Where does that leave 'Mini Mac'?" Emmett had to admit the name had already worked its way under his skin.

"At home with his other dad?"

The curtains parted, and the movie rolled through Emmett's mind as vividly as if he were watching through a window. Edward and Emmett bringing their baby home from the hospital. Edward warming up bottles and changing diapers and mashing up cooked carrots. Emmett playing peek-a-boo, rolling a ball to the baby, reading a bedtime story. Edward teaching him to count . . .

Where the screen had only been blank, Edward's presence in his life created high definition imagery. Emmett's voice was raw with emotion when he spoke.

"I can see that as a possibility now . . . down the road . . ." _With you. _

"That's good"—Edward pulled their joined hands around his body and scooted back into Emmett's chest—"because it would be a crime for those megastar genes of yours to go to waste."

"What about you, Einstein? You could get a pretty penny at the stud farm, yourself."

Edward chuffed. "It's a damn shame we can't make a baby together. Can you imagine?"

"I don't think the world is ready for that quite yet, Professor."

"It's a new year, Em. You never know."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hmmm, you never know.

Thanks for waiting for the second installment of their vacation. I hate inserting chapter breaks where they don't logically belong (maybe the Professor's influence on me?) but each of these two chapters was long individually, and together...fuggedaboudit!

I'm a wee bit behind on my review replies. Sorry if yours got suspended in my inbox, but I was working my fingers to the bone finishing up the MASSIVE epilogue, which I'm pleased to say is DONE! (until my prereaders and beta get their eyeballs on it, anyway). Sigh... we still have a handful more to go here so don't get misty-eyed just yet. I absolutely will get to every review, as always. Each one means so much to me and my boys!

Thanks for the love, support, ideas, questions, insights, and even the begging (you know who you are).  
**xxx ~BOH**


	45. Chapter 45

**XXX CHAPTER 45 XXX**

If forced to write another "whatilove" hashtag for Edward, Emmett could have waxed poetic about the players' first day back onto the turf. The ground is still more mud than grass and the air holds more of winter's bite than anyone wants to admit, but none of that matters because it's time to play again. As he collected Sawyer from his homeroom, Emmett pulled in a deep breath of spring ball—albeit tee-ball. Until he was signed, this was the only field Emmett would be sniffing this spring.

Edward had been cagey about his Lumpsucker uniform last night, stuffing the plastic-wrapped clothing into his gym bag with a frustrated sigh and tossing the bag to the back of his closet with a _don't-even-think-about-it _glare at his curious boyfriend. Seeing the uniform now on Sawyer, Emmett understood Edward's less than enthusiastic response. Given the choice, Edward wouldn't be the guy prancing around in skintight knickers—but then, nobody had given him the choice. There was a part of Emmett—a large, excitable part tucked into his jeans—that wasn't all that upset about the prospect of watching _that ass_ in _those pants_ for the next ten weeks, even if he had to watch from the sidelines.

Today was a test, and Emmett would pass with flying colors. He'd deliver Sawyer to the appointed field at the appointed time, and he'd sit his ass down in the folding chair and behave like any other parent-guardian-nanny in the crowd, just as he'd promised Edward—repeatedly.

Emmett couldn't have said what made him pick that World Champions Mariners jersey out of the laundry pile that morning. It wasn't a conscious act. Maybe Emmett needed his boyfriend to feel his presence, even ache for Emmett, since that's what this next ninety minutes were going to be for him—one long-ass ache—and wearing number sixty-nine was a pretty goddamn good guarantee.

He and Sawyer waited their turn to check in with the coach—rather patiently, Emmett thought—behind anxious mothers with eager players and anxious players with eager mothers. Edward's glance landed on the "Mariners" running across Emmett's chest in bold, teal lettering. Edward's eyes told the whole story; otherwise, he remained admirably composed. Emmett couldn't figure out how, considering what a hard time he was having.

"Hey, man." Emmett extended his hand.

"Emmett McCarty," Edward answered with a polite smile. "I'm a big fan."

Emmett let out a grin. At least Edward wasn't going to pretend he didn't know who he was. "Yep, I am he, and this is my nephew, Sawyer."

Edward reached to shake Sawyer's hand. "Very nice to finally meet you." Realizing his little slip, Edward gave a slight shake of his head.

Just then, the infamous dragon lady boss grabbed Emmett's elbow and dragged him to one side. "Mr. McCarty, please allow me to introduce myself and welcome you officially to Seven Hills. My name is Rosalie Hale, and if there's _anything _at all we can do to make your visit here more comfortable, I hope you won't hesitate to ask."

_A gin and tonic would be nice_. "Thank you. I've got my chair here, and I'm just going to fade into the crowd and let the coach do his job."

They glanced together toward the field, where Edward was doing his best to organize a batting drill on the muddy turf. Emmett's ears pricked up when he heard Sawyer's name.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, stepping around Rosalie to yell encouragement to his nephew through cupped hands. "Lean into it, Soy! Yesss!"

The boy snapped one straight out to the mound, a bullet aimed for Edward's stomach.

"_Ooomph_!" Edward held up his hand like a cliff diver giving the lifeguards the international "all-clear" signal.

_Oh shit. Look away from the trainwreck. _"So, my sister tells me they're very pleased with Sawyer's teacher."

Rosalie's face lit up, smiling out of every cosmetically-concealed pore. "I'm thrilled to hear it. I hope his extracurricular time proves to be productive as well." She pulled her lips into a teeth-baring smile. "Along those lines, I wondered if you might be coerced into offering your services . . . on the ball field, that is."

_Jesus Christ. Was that meant to be charming?_

Emmett turned to watch Edward drag the tub of mud-covered balls back to the tee. "Looks like your man is doing just fine out there."

"Hmm. Looks to me as though he could use a hand, especially one that's been around the bases a few times." Her attempt to purr fell flat. "We can offer you a stipend—obviously, your time is worth so much more than a few thousand dollars, but I'm sure you understand the constraints of budgeting. We don't exactly have the salary cap of Major League Baseball at our disposal here."

Emmett cleared his throat. The subject of salary caps was not one he was in any position to discuss with anyone other than his agent, and it was a bit of a sore topic at the moment. "I couldn't possibly take money."

Rosalie grasped his wrist. "You'll do it, then?"

Emmett's heart plummeted. Now he was going to come off as a jerk, which maybe he was, but not for the reasons Rosalie would think. "I _really_ don't think your coach would welcome the intrusion."

She swatted his concern away with a perfectly manicured hand. "Peeshaw! Dr. Cullen tells me he's a huge fan of baseball. You'll have him eating out of the palm of your hand in no time."

_Dr. Cullen is going to rip my nuts off and eat them for dinner. _

There was only one solution—the coward's way out—and Emmett hung his head and took it. "You run it by your coach. If he gives his blessing, I'm more than happy to help."

XXX

Edward had a full head of steam by the time he hurtled through the garage door, slamming it so hard behind him, it shook the pieces on the chess board Emmett was studying. There wasn't a defense in either volume of Alekhine that could save Emmett's ass this time, and he knew it. He stood on shaky legs and braced himself for the onslaught.

"You told Rose"—Edward pounded a clenched fist against his thigh—"that Sawyer wasn't receiving the best possible coaching advice? How could you?"

"What? I didn't say that!"

Edward dropped his bag on the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Emmett a hard glare.

Emmett started to approach him but thought better of it. With two outstretched palms, he implored Edward to believe him. "Edward, I swear I didn't say that. Your boss is a little psycho."

"No shit." Edward huffed. "Welcome to the crazy. Looks like she's your boss now, too."

Despite everything, Emmett smiled. "You said yes?"

"Like I had a choice? The great Emmett McCarty volunteered his services!" The vein above Edward's right eye was swollen and angry-looking. Come to think of it, so was Edward's whole face.

Trying a softer approach, Emmett dropped his hands. "She cornered me. I told her I'd do it only if you said it was okay."

"Goddammit, Emmett! Do you have any idea how hard this is gonna be for me?"

Emmett stepped forward again, only to be stopped in his tracks by a firm, "Don't. I mean it."

So Emmett had been wrong. Edward could get angry with him after all. The revelation terrified him.

Thoroughly defeated, Emmett shrank back. "Tell me how to fix this."

"You can't. It's too late."

"Do you want me to leave?" The words pulled Emmett's guts out as they left his throat.

"I don't know."

_Fuck. _If he wasn't kicked out, Emmett was staying. He desperately wanted to tell Edward it would be fine. Surely, the two of them could stand on a field together without the whole world knowing they were lovers. Especially if Edward was going to continue to glare at him like this.

"I'm sorry. I never should've brought Soy today. This whole situation is my problem, and I'm the one botching everything up."

The hard lines of Edward's mouth edged into a frown. "This 'whole situation' is our relationship, and therefore, it is _our_ problem." Stepping forward, Edward met Emmett toe-to-toe. "We'll solve it together."

Emmett choked back the lump sitting in his throat. "Okay." Cautiously, Emmett leaned forward, silently begging Edward's permission while he closed the distance between their lips.

Edward kissed him back. "I'm starved."

Finally, Emmett allowed himself a smile. "I made dinner." He pointed to the pizza box sitting on the counter.

"Sausage and extra cheese?"

"Yep."

Edward let a grin escape though Emmett suspected he didn't mean to. Reaching down, he unzipped his bag and pulled out a piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"Your consent form for a CORI check. You don't have a criminal record by any wild chance, do you?" The hopeful note in Edward's tone made Emmett chuckle.

"Sorry. I'm clean as a whistle." Emmett glanced down at Edward's mud-stained knickers. "Unlike you, my dirty little lumpsucker."

Edward's nose scrunched in distaste. "Yeah, I need to get the hell out of these pants."

"I was beginning to worry I wouldn't hear those words tonight."

Edward breezed past him toward the bedroom, grumbling all the way. "I can't believe I need to wear a cup to coach kindergarteners."

"This I gotta see."

The bedroom door closed before Emmett could slide his foot into the opening. From the other side, Edward called out, "Put the pizza in the oven to reheat. And don't forget to take it out of the box this time, slick!"

The storm had passed—for now.

XXX

Drawing out Edward's irritation during practices turned out to be Emmett's most effective strategy to curtail his boyfriend's fawning, and Emmett played his part with gusto. Rosalie required a bit of sweet-talking before agreeing Emmett could forego the Lumpsucker uniform for his own, but it was worth every syllable to see Edward's face when he trotted onto the field in his Mariner home whites. Chomping on bubble gum and even the occasional chaw added to Emmett's obnoxious behavior just enough to keep Edward edgy and keep them both out of trouble. The crotch scratching was entirely gratuitous, but once Emmett assumed his role of diva ballplayer, he could hardly be stopped.

Rosalie kept a suspicious eye on the two of them, probably worried that her math teacher would blow up at her superstar attraction, considering the way they were acting toward each other. But also because she couldn't keep her damn eyes—not to mention her hands—off Emmett, a situation that further inflamed poor Edward.

Behind closed doors, Emmett reassured him nightly that Rosalie's attentions were nothing but a nuisance, and Edward reassured Emmett that he was still fanatical in his affections. A casual tease after practice one day—Emmett winging his cap at Edward with a playful wink and, "See you in your dreams"—turned the hat into their private totem, a symbol of both the play-acting on the field and the intimacy of their bed. The hat moved with them through the season—on the tee-ball field, then home again—reminding them both they were in this together. And thus, they rolled through the four weeks of practices unscathed in public, rejuvenated in private.

Game day brought new challenges, namely, a wider audience, which spelled more pressure on Edward to perform for the parents. The group of kindergarteners who happened to have chosen tee-ball as their spring extra-curricular activity did not necessarily possess any skill for the game; Sawyer was the exception rather than the rule. While Emmett's professionally honed instincts looked for the win, Edward's talent with the kids stole the day. Despite the wide range of abilities, Edward seemed to understand how to put each kid in a position to succeed, and Emmett was smart enough to appreciate his glimpse of Dr. Edward Cullen in his natural habitat.

The first window into Edward's secret life as a teacher appeared in the form of a slight red-haired girl with a facial tic that wouldn't quit. Over Emmett's strategic objections, Edward insisted on batting Victoria first—the first batter in the first inning of their first game. With Emmett poised near the plate, prepared to guide Victoria down the baseline to first, Edward crouched next to the girl.

"You're up, Victoria. Swing just like we did in practice and run to first base."

The girl glanced out toward third base and nodded.

Patient as ever, Edward smiled and pointed toward first. "That way."

"Okay, coach."

She gave him a solemn nod, pinched her eyes closed, and swung the bat with all her might. As shocked as the rest of the crowd, Victoria opened her astonished eyes in time to watch the ball sail toward third. Emmett jumped up and down along the baseline, coaxing her to safety.

The next time she stepped up to the tee, she was visibly different: confident, capable, and ready. By their fourth game, Victoria was virtually tic-free. And she was but one story among many Emmett witnessed. Whatever the kids' challenges, Edward faced them head-on, with heart and mind wide open.

Though it nearly killed him to stifle his pride on the field, Emmett lavished Edward with praise in the sanctuary of their nights and weekends alone.

"I hope you realize what you've done for Victoria is going to impact the rest of her life."

Edward's cheeks pinked up. Twisting spaghetti around his fork suddenly became all-consuming. "I'm glad it all worked out."

"Scoring runs is a bonus, but that isn't necessarily the part she'll take away from the experience."

Edward stopped twirling to shoot a quizzical look at Emmett.

"Have you noticed she's not as twitchy when she steps up to bat?"

The praise was too much for him. Edward shook his head and protested. "She's six. I seriously doubt she'll remember much."

"What she's going to remember is that her coach believed in her. You can trust me on that."

In full-on blush mode, Edward turned back to his bowl. "That means a lot to me, Em."

Emmett reached his feet across the space beneath the table and captured Edward's legs between his own. Satisfied he'd made his point, Emmett broke off a hunk of garlic bread and tucked it past his broad grin.

Across the table, Edward sipped thoughtfully at his Chianti. "I know I'm not supposed to play favorites, but Sawyer's a real standout."

"I wouldn't worry. I'm sure Soy wouldn't accuse you of favoritism." Emmett delivered his line with a light chuckle, but Edward's eyebrows shot up.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Emmett's heart pounded out a warning, but they were already sliding down the slippery slope. "You're treating him just like every other kid on the field."

"Is that _bad?_ Has he said something?"

Sensing trouble, Emmett tightened his grip on Edward's legs. "He's fine. He's a kid, playing well above the field in a game that doesn't recognize winning. It's bound to lead to a bit of frustration."

Edward sank back into his chair with a loud sigh. "I don't want him to be frustrated."

"It's not a bad thing. He's more motivated than I've ever seen him. Sometimes, it's important to have an obstacle or two in your way."

"I don't want to be his obstacle." Edward worried the stem of his wine glass between his fingertips, churning the wine so it sloshed to the edges of the goblet. "I want to encourage him, but not by making him hate me!"

Lurching forward, Emmett covered Edward's shaky hand with his own. "Whoa, there. Nobody hates you." _And how the hell did we get here? _"Sawyer's learning what it means to be part of a team. It's a lesson he may as well learn now."

Edward's mouth formed a straight line. "I should be able to teach to all levels. That's my job. I do it in the classroom; the field's no different."

"You're herding cats and doing a bang-up job. Everyone understands."

"_Everyone_? Ugh . . . Alice and Jasper are upset with me, too?" The last time Emmett had seen Edward this miserable was the day Emmett tried to break it off with him, the day they first kissed.

"Nobody's upset. Tee-ball is not about winning; you've said it yourself countless times. And don't worry about Sawyer's skills. I'm taking care of that myself."

"All this time, I've kept away from Sawyer at school. And now, when I have the perfect chance to get to know him and make a good impression, it turns out I'm doing the exact opposite. I really wanted him to like me."

"Sawyer likes you just fine. Jasper and Alice adore you. And as soon as I finish this delicious meal, I'm going to come over there and show you exactly how _I _feel about you."

Edward groaned. "I knew this coaching gig was a terrible idea."

"Hey! Can we rewind please? Remember the part of this conversation where I was singing your praises?"

Edward gave him a grudging shrug.

"Dammit, Edward, you're a wonderful coach. You're patient and kind and fair and committed and—"

"Okay, okay."

Emmett reached over and cupped Edward's chin. "All that said, you tell the kid to aim for my nuts again, and you're getting more than a casual slap on your ass." Emmett delivered his threat with as stern a face as he could muster, considering the visual of Edward turned over his knee.

Finally, Edward smiled. "I already explained; I told him to aim between your knees."

"Humf! I guess Soy and I still have a bit of work to do on his aim." Emmett leaned in and kissed him.

"You'll let me know if I need to worry about Sawyer?"

"Of course, but you don't. I promise."

* * *

**Author's Note:** HOORAY! We've finally looped back to _Benched_! So now you know what was happening behind the scenes while Emmett and Edward appeared to be "fighting" on the field. Tensions are mounting at home as well, with Emmett not yet being signed by the Mariners (let's use our imaginations here, please, as I grossly obscured the MLB timeline without realizing it in _Benched_!) and Edward ready to implode with all his feelings for Emmett—in his Mariners uniform, no less! At times like these, it's best to remember we already know their HEA. :)  
**XXX ~BOH**


	46. Chapter 46

**XXX CHAPTER 46 XXX**

Some practices were rougher than others. The day of the "great slide" was one such practice.

Could Emmett have delivered his lesson to the little Lumpsuckers without knocking Edward's feet out from under him? Probably. Could he have gotten up without grinding his crotch against Edward's? Definitely. Would he change any of it if given the chance? Hell, no.

The wrath of slid-into Ed was a tidal wave of ire powerful enough to carry them through the rest of the season. Delivered through tightly clenched teeth, Edward's, "Blow me!" sent a shiver down Emmett's spine. Perhaps they were playing their parts _too_ well at this point in the game.

Nevertheless, Emmett was reassured about their off-field relationship as they dragged the mesh bag to Edward's car together.

"I need to ask you something," Edward said.

Grinning, Emmett answered, "Want me to replay that slide again? Maybe sans cups?"

Edward shot him a _don't-push-your-luck_ glare. "Not even close."

"Guy's gotta try."

"Rosalie asked me—no, _commanded_ me—to ask you to donate something to the school auction."

"Auction, huh? Is this one of those kinky deals where the suburban housewives get all stupid on Cosmos and bid on shirtless beefcakes?"

Edward's nose twitched with disgust. "Jeez, what if it is?"

Emmett shrugged. "I don't really mind the looking, and God knows I'm used to being bought and sold . . . but I don't think my boyfriend would much appreciate some random lady putting her hands all over my body."

"No, I'm pretty damn sure he wouldn't."

Emmett snorted. "So, what's the expectation here? Do I have to be somebody's bitch for the night?"

"For crying out loud, it's an elementary school. I'm sure they'll keep it clean."

"Uh, have you met your boss?"

"Yeah . . . come to think of it, she'd most likely be your top bidder."

"There's a lovely thought."

"Seriously, if you could donate a signed cap or picture, that would be great."

"That sounds a bit more doable."

Edward chucked the equipment bag in the trunk of his Volvo, and they stood for a moment behind the lifted trunk lid. "Thanks, Em. You know how much I hate asking you for shit like this."

"I do. It's adorable, actually, but don't give it a second thought. It's standard PR for the team."

"Well, I'm sure all the teachers will appreciate it. These Smartboards are all the rage." Edward wiggled his fingers in the air to illustrate the excitement.

"Well, then, let's get the fine faculty of Seven Hills some Smartboards, shall we?" Emmett walked Edward around to his door. "Hey, how much do you think my jock would go for?"

Edward rolled his gaze down Emmett's jersey, landing squarely on his crotch. "The one you're wearing right now?"

Emmett smirked. "Yep. The blue one. Your favorite."

"Oh, let's see . . . I'd say . . . probably about . . . nothing!" Edward's words were bold, but his blush told the real story.

Jabbing him playfully with his elbow, Emmett replied, "I know you'd bid at least a buck for it. You could put it on your bed next to my cap."

"That makes a lovely mental picture. Thank you so much." Edward pulled the car door closed, but Emmett wasn't about to let Edward have the final word.

He knocked on the window and waited patiently while Edward turned on the car and rolled down the window. "Yes?" Edward made sure Emmett heard the sarcasm dripping off his voice.

"If you hurry home, you can have a private viewing before the bidding opens."

XXX

Monday's practice had been particularly trying for Edward. Spring fever had invaded, and the kids were restless. Edward's famous classroom management techniques couldn't compete with caterpillars and grasshoppers—let alone clouds.

Emmett gallantly stepped in to offer his Major League advice: a spirit cheer would do the trick. The idea was brilliant; the execution, not so much.

Gathering the little critters into a tight circle, Emmett taught them how to pile up their hands in the middle, insisting on Edward's participation when he blanched. Emmett slapped his hand on top of the coach's, offering his support with a light brush of his fingertip along Edward's knuckle. Okay, maybe the tickle was meant to be a slight tease, but Edward definitely needed some lightening up.

Once the gathering and piling and teasing were done, the moment of truth descended. Emmett realized he had absolutely nothing in his Major League repertoire that would be even close to appropriate for the twelve pairs of eyes gazing up at him with wonder and awe. _Crap._

_Engage the kids in their own learning,_ Edward would say. _Okay, then_.

"What would a lumpsucker do better than anyone else?"

Bless his heart, Sawyer belted out, "Suck lumps!"

That's when the woodchuck rhyme popped into Emmett's head with a most unfortunate vengeance. And like most of what popped into Emmett's head, the tongue-twister exited his mouth without benefit of filtration.

"I got it! Repeat after me . . . How many lumps would a lumpsucker suck if a lumpsucker could suck lumps?"

Hence, the cold shoulder Monday night.

Edward could forgive Emmett anything unless it involved the kids. Emmett got it; he'd messed up big time. If he could've taken back the words, he gladly would have.

Still, Emmett suspected something much bigger than an inappropriate chant was bothering his boyfriend. With the Lumpsuckers' season finale—and their final appearance together in front of their largest audience yet—only days away, Edward was edgier than Emmett had ever seen him. Emmett's salary talks seemed log jammed, and the intense glare of the microscope put an added strain on every public interaction between the two of them.

Come Friday at 5:01 p.m., this would all be behind them. They could go back to their happy, private lives with no one the wiser. But for now, Edward's game face bled into their week in a way neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

That became Emmett's mantra as Tuesday evening's dinner conversation wore thin. They shared a quick fuck and rolled over to their own sides of the bed. Emmett slept poorly, and judging from the tossing and turning on the opposite side of the mattress, Edward didn't fare much better.

After dinner on Wednesday, Edward checkmated Emmett in twenty-six quick moves—a clear sign he needed his own space. Edward's thoughts seemed far away when they sank into bed together. Emmett had the strong feeling they were both having sex just to avoid the monumental statistical consequences of breaking their perfect record. It was easier to fuck than talk about why they didn't.

Thursday, Emmett made it easy on both of them by going to his sister's for dinner. Jasper was far too perceptive not to notice Emmett's mood, but he was also wise enough to keep his thoughts to himself. Emmett shared some last-minute tips with Sawyer and left soon after his nephew went to bed. Emmett's bed was cold and lonely, but he knew sharing a bed with Edward would've been worse.

XXX

"Oh, Emmett! Emmm-mett!"

Ignoring Rosalie Hale wasn't going to make her go away; it would only make her more persistent.

Emmett tried a polite brush-off. "I'm going to be late for our last game."

She wrapped her claws around Emmett's forearm, and it was all he could do not to pull away. "I'm not going to keep you. I just wanted to thank you . . . _perrrrrsonally_ . . . for the autographed team ball. I'm sure it will bring in a pretty penny. It was most generous of you."

"No problem. You're welcome. Yeah, I should—"

"In case I miss you after the game, let me just take a moment to thank you again for all you've done for the team."

"Right. Speaking of the little Lumpsuckers . . ."

"Oh yes, of course." She loosened her grasp, and Emmett slipped out of her clutches. "Good luck today, and please feel free to drop by anytime . . . to visit Sawyer . . ."

"Yep, thanks." Emmett jogged to the field, Rosalie's hot gaze warming his ass cheeks the whole way. Emmett reached the knot of little bodies just in time to hear the lame, "What are we gonna do tonight?" Recognizing his chance to make amends, Emmett jumped into the circle, announcing his entrance with a swat on his lover's ass.

"I got this," Emmett said, adding a squeeze before releasing Edward's butt cheek. "Stick your hand in there."

"You first," Edward answered.

_Challenge accepted. _"You want to be on top this time?" Emmett raised his eyebrows, smiled, and pinched Edward's ass again before reaching his hand into the pile. "I'm versatile, too."

A bit deer-in-the-headlighted by Emmett's unexpected comment, Edward stood with his mouth agape. Emmett's lover was an open book to match his open mouth; Emmett knew exactly where Edward's thoughts had gone because Emmett's had gone there, too—pinned to the floor under his sexy math teacher, who was riding Emmett like a jockey going after the Triple Crown.

"Ready, guys?" Emmett grinned and led the chant. "2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate?"

"Coach Cullen!" they screamed.

Edward blushed and gave Emmett a sheepish grin. It was a start.

"What's the lineup?" Emmett asked.

"Victoria first, followed by Sawyer, Bree, and Riley."

"I like it." Emmett's validation drew a relieved breath from Edward.

Emmett took his place just outside the chalk line to first base, yelling and cheering Victoria on until her sneaker hit the plastic. He gave her a high-five and reminded her to take her two-step leadoff.

Edward said something to Sawyer as he stepped up to the tee. Whatever it was must've worked because Sawyer hit a perfect line drive toward third, easily a double. Emmett tracked the ball like a bloodhound, logging every player's movement with the ease of a chess master predicting the next moves. He coaxed Victoria through second base and onto third while waving Sawyer to second—but . . . Wait! What the _hell _was Edward yelling_?_

"GO BACK, SAWYER! STICK AT SECOND, VICTORIA!"

Obedient to a fault, Victoria hugged second with all her might, not budging when Sawyer slid into the opposite side of the plastic diamond.

Edward was screaming, "Tell him to go back!" but Emmett could only watch, dumbfounded while the shortstop effortlessly tagged out Sawyer. The poor kid took it hard, kicking the dirt, tossing down his cap, and scowling at Victoria. _Time for an intervention, _but Emmett wasn't exactly sure whose.

Emmett tapped his nephew's elbow, called "Time out," and jogged to home plate with the boy.

"That wasn't fair!" Sawyer yelled.

Emmett agreed but knew better than to say so out loud. He bit his tongue and let Edward handle it.

Crouching down in front of the boy, Edward attempted to pacify him. "We had a plan, Sawyer. Remember?"

"But Uncle Emmett sent me to second . . . and I _made_ it!"

Edward glanced up at Emmett, pain deeply etched into Edward's eyes as the full force of Sawyer's disappointment tore at his heart, but there was to be no absolution from Emmett.

Edward offered his justification. Which of the three of them Edward was trying to convince, Emmett couldn't have said. "Tee-ball is a team sport, Sawyer."

"But—" Sawyer was cut short by a firm squeeze of his shoulder. The boy looked up at his uncle, who gave him a shake of his head.

This part was clear-cut for Emmett, ingrained in him from his earliest practice. "Never talk back to your coach. Go sit on the bench, Soy."

Edward gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks for the backup."

Emmett leaned in close and unleashed his anger. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"I thought you agreed—"

"That was an idiotic move. You slaughtered your own player!" Emmett's emotions were getting the better of him, but he couldn't seem to contain his agitation.

Edward fought back with his own venomous accusation. "You were showboating at the expense of my players!"

"It's called 'winning,' asshole."

"There are more important things than winning, dickwad."

That's when Emmett shoved him.

A terrible avalanche of little bodies followed, and Emmett watched with horror as Edward toppled his batting lineup one innocent child at a time. Emmett grasped Edward by the wrist to pull him off of Bree, but Edward took the opportunity to yank Emmett to the ground. Emmett struggled to his feet, only to have his legs kicked out from under him by a very un-Edwardly Edward. Emmett was pissed as hell, but he had to admit, Edward was impressively scrappy when perturbed.

The two wrestled and swore at each other as their joined bodies rolled toward the mound, kicking up dust and the attention of everyone on the sidelines. The pent-up passion produced by ten weeks of hiding in plain sight exploded like a can of Pillsbury crescent rolls poked with a spoon.

"Why am I even here if you're not going to listen to my advice?"

"Are you shitting me?" Edward flipped Emmett onto his back and pinned his hands over his head. "We agreed you would keep your ass off my field! And what's the very first thing you do?"

Emmett stared up at Edward, flapping his jaw but showing the good sense not to respond. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths that matched his boyfriend's. The realization that they'd taken things a bit too far hit Emmett a split second before Edward said, "Oh, shit."

Emmett followed Edward's gaze to a pair of red pumps striding toward them with purpose. Whatever punishment Rose was about to mete out, Emmett needed Edward to know he regretted his part in the shit storm. "Is it too late to say I'm sorry?"

"Don't really think it's gonna help," Edward answered. "Damn, I kind of liked this job, too."

Emmett's heart sank. This whole fucking mess was his fault, and now he'd gotten Edward fired. "Let me do the talking," Emmett said.

"Stand up. Both of you."

Emmett caught Edward's _I'm-so-fucked_ gaze as they rose to face the music.

"Follow me," Rosalie said through tightly clenched teeth.

They followed her teetering heels off the field and away from the crowd's prying eyes. Emmett would've given the moon and stars to clasp Edward's hand, but he settled for bumping shoulders with Edward as they walked to their doom.

"I don't get it," she said. "Why is it so damn hard for you two to work together?"

For all his bravado earlier, Emmett couldn't put together two words to save either of their lives.

One of the red pumps tapped out an angry beat. "We have one more game left—that's one lousy hour. There are fifty feet of field from one end to the other; do the math, Dr. Cullen. That's a pretty large area for two grown men. Do you think you two divas could kiss and make up and get your asses back out there without humiliating the school?"

Maybe if Rosalie hadn't phrased it quite that way, what happened next might not have—at least not right then and there. But she'd said it—_kiss and make up_—and _by God,_ that was exactly what needed doing. Ramifications be damned! Big Mac needed to kiss his boyfriend.

"Fuck it!" Emmett burst, grasping the back of Edward's neck and pulling him in for a deep, hard kiss. Edward's body surrendered: mouth open, eyes shut, that tiny whimper of desire that always demolished Emmett just before their lips collided. Their kiss wasn't gentle, and it wasn't quick.

Emmett couldn't help grinning like a total loon when he finally released Edward. "I really fucking needed that."

Only slightly more surprised than Edward, Rosalie stared slack-jawed. "You're gay?"

"Yes." Emmett and Edward answered in unison, looked at each other, and laughed.

"Wait, what? You knew about this, Edward?" Rose asked, moving her hands to her hips.

"Yes, you might say that," Edward answered curtly, his eyes locked with Emmett's. "Baby, what about your contract?"

Emmett shrugged. "Fuck the contract. I'm tired of hiding. If the Mariners have a problem with that, they can kiss my ass."

Edward's smile stretched from sea to shining sea. "You mean that?"

"I do."

Edward swooped in for another kiss. "Does this mean you'll move in with me now? As in, fill all my drawers with your junk?"

Emmett bent in half with laughter. "Oh, Professor, you do have a way with words, but ix-nay on the irty-day talk in front of your oss-bay."

Edward rolled his eyes and attempted to rein in his boyfriend. "You're punch drunk, Mac."

"You bet I am! And hell no, I will not move in with you!" Emmett chuckled. "Dude, I have the penthouse suite in the most luxurious building on the waterfront. Pack your bags, Euclid, and don't forget my cap!"

"Hold on, Romeo . . . and Romeo." Rosalie pointed an accusing finger back and forth between the men. "You two made a fool of me," she said.

Emmett guffawed, and Edward elbowed him in the belly. "Um, Rose," Edward said, stopping short of stating the obvious.

"Okay, fine," she said. "I made a fool of myself."

Emmett offered her a handshake. "No harm done. I think you might've actually done us both a gigantic favor. It was time."

Rosalie turned back to Edward, shook her head, and chuffed. "Cullen, you are one lucky math teacher."

Edward beamed at him, and Emmett knew in that instant, it would all work out—at least with Rosalie. "Come on, Coach. We have a game to not win."

They returned to a restless crowd probably looking for some kind of explanation they were not going to get. Emmett swatted Edward's ass and jogged out to second base, leaving Edward on the bench to deal with the chaos of his team and the remains of the game.

Emmett could've kept right on jogging, as light as his chest felt. For the first time ever, he was free to ogle the man he loved right there in the open air of the baseball diamond. The self-imposed shackles fell away. The closet door was flung wide open, and the skeletons tumbled out—well, sort of. They were still on a field with two dozen little kids and a crowd of parents, and this wasn't the Emmett McCarty Coming Out Ball, after all. The kisses and the declarations would have to wait, but instead of making Emmett feel ill, the idea of finally stepping into the light left him positively giddy.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And here we are! Out...ish. I hope this and the previous chapter were illuminating. :)

I'm so proud to announce that my friend Shell Taylor's (aka shellshock81) FIRST NOVEL IS BEING RELEASED by Dreamspinner Press on Oct. 5. _Redeeming Hope_ started out here on fanfic as "Building Hope", a beautiful story you might remember about "2-1/2 men" (forgive my editorializing, Shell!) who twist up each other's hearts-and ours along with them. The original story was completely reworked, expanded, and improved upon for publishing, and I can't say enough good things about the book (but if you want to see my attempt, check out my Goodreads page for my review!). If you're a fan of m/m romance, the themes, characters, plot, and dialogue will carry you to a very special place. Go and pre-order book one of the 3-book series so it'll be in your hands soon! And send Shell some love! FF-dot-net hates external links, so just google the book or head to Amazon or DP for yours today!  
**xxx ~BOH**


	47. Chapter 47

**XXX CHAPTER 47 XXX**

Emmett tossed the chocolate-covered goji berries onto the passenger seat and started up the Spyder. Before shifting into reverse, he placed the call he'd been running through his mind since kiss-mauling Edward. Hell, if he were honest with himself, he'd been playing out this conversation for the better part of two years.

"Call Scott Moran."

**_Dialing Scott Moran . . ._**

In typical, no-nonsense fashion, Scott dispensed with the usual greetings and dove into a status update before Emmett could even say hello. "Mac, we're in striking range, just ironing out some of the finer points you're gonna thank me for la—"

"Scott, I need to tell you something."

"Don't tell me you're hurt! Have you gone and done something stupid? Please, don't tell me you've taken up spring skiing!"

"No, man. It's nothing like that."

"All right. Give it to me straight. What am I dealing with here?"

The confession Emmett had stumbled over with Esme and Trey now spilled quickly off his tongue. "I'm gay, Scott, and I want the Mariners to know it before they sign me again."

The so-called "Lord of the Loophole" heaved out a sigh. "Jesus Christ, Mac."

The hammer inside Emmett's chest picked up speed, and Emmett found himself surprised at how quickly his anxiety turned to anger. "Am I supposed to apologize or something?"

"For being gay? Hell, no! For waiting until the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour to tell me . . . _perhaps._"

_Hunh, that wasn't so bad._ The burst of irritation left Emmett's system with a dull tingle. "In that case, I apologize."

"If you thought I would talk you out of this, you were wrong."

Behind Emmett's Oakleys, tears nipped at his eyes. "Really?"

"Emmett, look. I'm not going to lie to you; you're in for a bit of a rough ride. You're blazing a new trail in a sport that is only now starting to see the occasional gay player step out of the shadows."

"So I've noticed."

"That said, I believe you have every reason to be hopeful. Except for a few thousand disappointed Giants fans, you're baseball's darling and with good reason. You're at the top of your game, and if you take care of that shoulder, you could have another truly spectacular ten to fifteen years ahead of you. That's too damn long to hide in the shadows. I would never advise any of my clients to live that way. I only wish you would've come to me sooner. I'm sure you've been suffering with this for too damn long already."

The tears sprang free, trailing down Emmett's cheeks. He started to answer, but the words never made it past the boulder in his throat.

"How would you like to handle this, Mac? I'll follow your lead."

_Now, _there_ was a damn good question. _Emmett's inner monologue on the topic had never gone much further than spilling out his confession. Stopping to consider the actual process of opening the closet door and standing naked in front of the whole world was a bit daunting. Astonished faces popped into Emmett's mind, crowding his windshield like soap bubbles filling a bathtub.

Emmett cleared his throat as he considered his answer. "There are a few people I need to talk to before this goes public: teammates, coaches, friends." _Sawyer. _"Give me till noon tomorrow, and then close the deal as soon as you can?"

"Okay, Mac. You got it. As I said, we're in the home stretch with the negotiations, so it won't be long now."

"Thank God. I need to get back onto that field."

"Believe me, I'd like nothing better. Even without anti-discrimination laws in place, I can't see the Nintendo execs giving you the shaft, so to speak." Moran chuckled at his own pun. "But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't warn you, you might be leaving some endorsement money on the table with this announcement."

"I want to play baseball, Scott. Leave the Rolex and Volvo ads for someone else."

"You're breaking my heart, kid." Moran's trademark smile seeped into his words even through the precarious mobile connection. "Hey, don't rule out underwear modeling. That's where the big bucks are these days. Especially now that gay men everywhere will think they might actually have a shot at you."

"Uhh . . ."

"Oh. Taken. Got it." Moran laughed again. "You are a challenge, Mac. I'll give you that."

"It wasn't my intention. I held off as long as I could, and I _am_ sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"Go do what you need to do. I'll call you tomorrow when the deal is sealed."

"Thanks, Scott. Talk to you then."

With a quick call of explanation to Edward, Emmett set off on a course to Alice's.

XXX

"Emmett?" Alice took in her brother's appearance from what must have been a very solemn expression on his face, to the uniform covered in grass stains, to the muddy cleats he was still wearing. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine." The smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies wafted outside, and it occurred to Emmett he'd interrupted their dinner. "I'm sorry I didn't call first."

"You haven't had a fight with Edward, have you?"

"No, of course not."

Alice placed her hand on her hip. "You haven't exactly been yourself this week, and what the"—Alice checked her surroundings before letting the curse word fly —"_hell_ were you doing today on the field?

Duly chastised, Emmett hung his head. "Yeah, I know. Listen, can I come in? I really need to talk to you and Sawyer."

"Sawyer? Why?" She gave him another critical once-over. "Of course, come in, but leave your cleats out there. And don't sit on anything until you've changed your clothes."

Emmett shrugged and toed off his shoes. "I didn't bring anything to change into. I'm sorry. I didn't really plan on this visit."

Grasping him by the arm, she drew Emmett inside the house. "Sawyer's in his room, playing while I get dinner ready. What's this all about?"

Emmett's mouth twisted into a grin. "I'm doing it, Alice."

"Proposing? Eeeeeeep!" Alice pulled Emmett—filth and all—into a tight hug. "Yay! Oh, this is _wonnnnnderful_ news! I'm gonna plan you guys—"

"Ugh, Alice. No. _Whooaaaa_! Slow the stagecoach. I need to get off." Emmett stood there stiff-armed while Alice processed his comments and released him.

"You're doing _what_, exactly?"

"I'm busting out of the closet."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I know."

"Right this second?"

"Pretty much. I wanted to talk with Sawyer before he hears about it from his friends."

Alice reached for Emmett again, settling this time for squeezing his shoulders and speaking in a vocal range recognizable to the human ear. "I'm so happy for you, little brother."

"Thanks, Alice."

"Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower? I'll rustle you up something clean to wear, and you can talk with Soy over dinner. You _are_ staying for dinner?"

Peering over Alice's shoulder into the kitchen, Emmett asked, "Will you be serving those cookies for dessert?"

She grinned at him. "If you're a good boy."

Emmett chuckled. "Well, there goes that!"

Alice pointed a finger toward the stairs. "Go! Jasper's on his way home. Dinner's in fifteen minutes. And leave that filthy uniform in the bathroom."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Ten minutes later, sporting a skintight Seahawks tee-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that barely fit around Emmett's hips, he trotted barefoot down the steps. Sawyer glanced up from his napkin folding, his expressive face lit with excitement.

"Uncle Emmett!"

"Hey, Champ." He braced himself for the Sawyer tackle hug, laughing when the little chest barreled into his own. It didn't matter that they'd seen each other less than thirty minutes ago.

"What are you doing here? It's not your night."

"Nope." Emmett met Alice's knowing grin. "I heard your mom was baking my favorite cookies, and I couldn't stay away."

Either satisfied with the explanation or distracted by his father's arrival, Sawyer ran across the room to greet Jasper, who gave Emmett a quizzical look while hugging his son. "Is this my little slugger? Mom told me you were great today. Seven hits and four RBIs? Not a bad day's work!"

Sawyer wriggled out of Jasper's arms and slid down his body. "I got out once, but it wasn't really my fault. There were too many chefs in the soup."

Jasper turned to his wife for an explanation, but all she could do was nod while biting the insides of her cheeks. Emmett was no help either, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jasper settled a curious gaze on Emmett. "Why are you wearing my clothes?"

Alice saved the day. "Hello to you, too, darling. Don't I get a kiss?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure."

Alice tugged on Jasper's tie and dragged him into the kitchen, where she must've filled him in on the details of Sawyer's tee-ball game as well as the purpose of Emmett's unexpected visit. Jasper returned looking a whole lot less confused and more relaxed, folding his jacket over the back of the sofa and loosening his tie.

"Hello, Emmett." Jasper greeted Emmett with his customary hug. "It's always a pleasure to have you drop in—even if we just saw you last night."

Sawyer squeezed his body in between father and uncle. "He heard about Mommy's cookies."

Jasper laughed, ruffling Sawyer's hair. "Well, they are pretty delicious."

"Sit down, everyone. Dinner's ready. Sawyer, did you finish setting Uncle Emmett's place?"

"Oopsie, I forgot the fork and knife."

"That's okay. I'll just eat with my fingers." Emmett gave him a huge wink.

Alice pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I think not. Tell your uncle we don't eat meatloaf with our hands."

Sawyer ran into the kitchen, obediently echoing his mother, inflection and all. "We don't eat meatloaf with our hands."

While the boy was out of earshot, Jasper offered a quiet, "I'm here for you, Emmett. Whatever you need."

"Thanks, man. I'm good." Emmett had a few ideas floating around in his head, but he figured it would be best to let Sawyer guide the conversation, more or less, once Emmett threw the opening pitch.

Sawyer returned with the utensils. Food circled the table; initial bites were taken. The adults passed glances across the silent table.

_Just do it already._

Emmett swallowed, chugged half a glass of water, and cleared his throat. "So, I have a bit of good news."

Playing the perfect straight man, Jasper offered up, "Oh? What's that?"

"I know!" Sawyer said, bounding out of his chair. "The Mariners said you could come back and play some more!"

_Sometimes this kid was too smart for his own good._

"Actually, Soy, my agent says they're getting real close, and I might actually hear tomorrow."

Jasper and Alice greeted the news with pleased but subdued expressions of surprise so as not to derail the conversation.

"But that's not my news." Emmett took his first shaky step onto the tightrope as Sawyer returned to his seat. "Actually, what I wanted to tell you—all of you—is that I have a very special person in my life now."

Alice reached across the table and squeezed Emmett's hand. "That's wonderful!"

"You mean like a girlfriend?" Sawyer asked.

Jasper nodded subtly to Emmett while taking in the next forkful of meatloaf.

Emmett plowed ahead, his stomach tied up in knots. "Sort of like that . . . only it's a man, not a girl."

Sawyer's forehead crinkled as he worked it out. "You have a manfriend?"

Emmett smiled. "Mmhmm."

Sawyer thought about it a little bit. "Like when two men love each other and get married?"

Trying not to get freaked out by the "m" word, Emmett nodded. "Yes, that's the kind of love I mean. We don't know about the marriage part yet"—Emmett paused, realizing this talk might've been a whole lot easier without Alice and Jasper in the room—"but definitely the love part."

Sawyer slumped back into his chair. "Oh."

Panicked, Emmett turned to Jasper for help.

Jasper reached an arm around Sawyer's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Sawyer? What's going on inside that head of yours?"

Heart in his throat, Emmett waited silently while Sawyer stared at his plate. Jasper gave Emmett a half-smile of encouragement, but it fell flat. Emmett pushed aside his plate and rapped his knuckles on the table next to Sawyer.

"Knock, knock."

Sawyer looked up. "Who's there?"

"Uncle Emmett."

"Uncle Emmett who?"

"Uncle Emmett wants to know what you're thinking, and he's not going to get mad if you tell him."

Sawyer stared him down for the longest seconds of Emmett's life. "Do you promise?"

"I promise." Answering was easy. "I could never get mad at you."

"Are you going to stop coming over?"

"No! Never!"

"Are you gonna bring your manfriend over too?"

Emmett's stomach twisted. "I'd like to. Very much." Emmett glanced at Alice for confirmation.

"We'd like that too," she said.

Something was still troubling Sawyer, and he finally spit it out. "Are you still gonna play catch with me, even when your friend is here?"

"Yes! Absolutely!"

Sawyer lifted his gaze, blinking his perfect blond eyelashes. "Will you still give me piggy back rides?"

"All the time!"

The hint of a smile tugged at Sawyer's lips. "And we can still watch baseball together and play Xbox?"

"Yes and yes!" Emmett held up his arm for their special handshake, and Sawyer placed his palm against Emmett's. Emmett curled his fingers around Sawyer's little hand and pulled their joined hands to his heart. "Listen to me, Sawyer Whitlock. Nobody will ever take your place in my heart. Nobody. Ed—my _friend_ is not going to take me away from you, I promise you. In fact, he's really looking forward to hanging out with you."

"He is?" Curiosity overtook anxiety.

_And now for the fun part. _"Yes, he is. It's actually someone you already know, and I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier, but it wouldn't have been fair to the other kids, so we had to keep it a secret. But I can tell you now if you're ready."

"I'm ready!"

_The boy has no clue._

Emmett drew in a big lungful of air, glancing over at Jasper and Alice for support. _Here we go. _"It's Coach Cullen."

Sawyer regarded Emmett as if he'd just told him elephants can fly. "But you don't even like Coach Cullen!"

Emmett schooled his smirk. "I do, Soy. I like him a lot."

The boy's face registered complete disorientation, and for a moment, Emmett feared he'd unhooked the boy too far from his reality all at once. "You do?"

"Coach and I had to pretend a little bit, but now I don't want to—we don't _have to_ pretend anymore. I know this is really hard to understand, Soy, but sometimes people can be really mean about the kind of feelings Coach Cullen and I have for each other."

"But why?"

"That's a very good question, Soy."

Sawyer blinked up at his uncle for answers Emmett wasn't sure he had. Jasper and Alice weren't stepping in to bail Emmett out, but they offered encouraging nods. Emmett shrugged while gathering his thoughts.

"I guess some people were taught when they were little that certain kinds of love are wrong."

"That's dumb. Love is just love."

"Yep." Emmett's eyes clouded with tears. _If only the world outside this perfect bubble were as wise as my nephew_. "It is pretty dumb, but I knew you'd get it."

Having settled the matter to his satisfaction, Sawyer picked up his fork and took another bite of meatloaf. Emmett patted himself on the back for surviving the inquisition, but as it turned out, Sawyer wasn't finished.

"Uncle Em?"

Water glass to his lips, Emmett gave him a wary, "Mmhmm?"

"Do you and Coach fight _all_ the time?"

The water caught in his windpipe, and Emmett sputtered and choked. Alice hopped up from the table to grab some paper towels, but Emmett suspected she went into the kitchen so she could giggle without her son seeing.

When Emmett could breathe again, he said, "Tell you what, Champ. How about after dinner, you and I go outside and have a catch, and you can ask me anything you want. Deal?"

XXX

Emmett grabbed them each two cookies on the way out the back door. They threw a baseball back and forth until the daylight faded, and after that, they rolled grounders to each other. Sawyer had an endless supply of questions: How'd they meet? Wasn't Coach too bossy? Did Coach like Sawyer (because it sometimes felt like maybe he didn't)? How could Emmett tell they were more than regular friends? What kinds of things did they like to do together? How far could Coach run? Did Emmett think they would get married? Would Sawyer be getting cousins? What about Tammy? Was it weird being with a teacher all the time? Which one drove when they went somewhere? What should Sawyer say when he saw Coach Cullen at school on Monday?

The questions poured out of Sawyer, and Emmett filled him up with simple, clear answers. When the first star appeared in the night sky, Emmett lifted Sawyer onto his back and carried him to the stoop.

"You really think Coach would teach me how to play chess?"

"Yep. If he could teach me, he can teach anyone."

"Can you beat him?"

"Nope. He's really, really good."

"But what if you keep practicing?"

"Oh, I will. And I'll get better, but Coach is kind of like a superhero at chess."

"Like you are at baseball?"

"Yep. Just like that."

At the door, Emmett swung Sawyer around to his chest and squished him in a giant bear hug. "I was real proud of you at tee-ball, Soy."

"I was proud of you, too."

Emmett loosened his grip, pulling back so he could see Sawyer's face. "Yeah?"

Sawyer nodded. "Yeah. All the kids were saying how cool it was to have you there."

"Maybe I can speak with Dr. Hale about coaching baseball next year."

"That would be great!" His expression turned pensive. "Do you think Coach would coach, too?"

"I have a feeling he'll be coaching tee-ball again. He's really good at it."

"Oh." Sawyer looked adorably disappointed. "Well, do you think Coach would want to come with us to the batting cage sometime?"

"I know he would." Emmett couldn't wait to invite him. "Maybe we can do that next weekend. I'll talk to your mom."

"I'm gonna go ask her right now!"

Sawyer squirmed out of Emmett's arms and raced over to the couch. Jasper turned his head and caught Emmett's eye. Emmett gave him a big smile and two thumbs up.

_Yep, that went well. Now all I have to do is tell the grownups._

* * *

**Author's Note**: We knew Soy would be accepting, but Emmett never wanted to bring him into the secret world of lies and ask him to be dishonest. What a load off Emmett's heart! And yours?

**XXX ~BOH**


	48. Chapter 48

**XXX CHAPTER 48 XXX**

Emmett woke well ahead of his seven a.m. alarm. The call list he and Edward had put together last night was twenty-five deep, and on his way to the kitchen, Emmett had already thought of five additional names to add.

Edward shuffled in a few minutes later to find Emmett busily scribbling notes on the page. "How'd you sleep?"

"I didn't."

"Sorry." Edward stepped behind him, placed his hands on Emmett's shoulders, and kneaded the tense muscles beneath his fingers. "Should we practice again?"

Emmett leaned back against the comforting presence of Edward's bare chest. "Nope, I'm good."

"Let me at least make you a pot of coffee."

"I accept." Emmett smiled up at Edward to let him know his support was very much appreciated.

Wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, Edward skated around his kitchen, preparing breakfast for the two of them—filling the coffee machine, lining up cereal boxes on the counter, setting up bowls and spoons, chopping the perfect ratio of melons to berries. Sawyer's questions about marriage popped into Emmett's head. Could he see marrying Edward? Hell, yes. The conclusion didn't even surprise him anymore.

These private moments with Edward would always stir the fire in Emmett's blood, but after today, they wouldn't have to lock themselves away from the world to enjoy each other's company. And, of course, if things didn't go as planned, Emmett would have oodles more free time to spend with his lover. A shiver tore down his spine, and Emmett shook off the negative energy.

Emmett stretched his legs out in front of him and clasped his hands together behind his head. "What's your plan for the day?"

Leaning back against the counter, Edward said, "I have some tests to grade, and I have to tweak my lesson plan for my Math Concepts class. So basically, I'll be sitting here, sick to my stomach, waiting to hear how things are going."

Somehow the idea of Edward worrying himself sick melted Emmett's heart. "Are you planning to get dressed or sit around like that all day?"

Edward caught the flirtatious hint in Emmett's voice and followed him down the trail of happy distraction. "Neither. Actually, I find I work much better in my underwear. As soon as you leave, I'm gonna take off these shorts, blare some Bob Seger_, _and _Risky-Business_ around the living room for a bit before I settle in."

Emmett allowed himself to sink into that tantalizing scene, then immediately wished he hadn't. "Don't forget the socks."

_Saved by the coffeepot_. Chuckling, Edward turned around and filled two mugs. "Should we just play it by ear later?"

"Yeah," Emmett said with a sigh. "I have no idea how any of this is gonna go." He had a pretty good idea Scott would be calling him that afternoon with the news, but Emmett wasn't going to stress Edward out with that little detail. Plus, Emmett was holding a little something up his sleeve.

Edward set the coffee down on the table in front of Emmett. "I get it. Well, don't worry about me. I have plenty to keep me busy here."

"Okay, Professor. You do your thing, and I'll do mine, and we'll meet up and compare notes at the end of the day."

XXX

Danny Fuller was generally an easygoing guy—not that any of the batters who faced him in the final innings of the game would agree—but he was pacing outside Easy Street when Emmett pulled up.

"Jesus, Mac! What's with the cloak-and-dagger routine? You couldn't tell me why you wanted to meet?"

If it was possible, Emmett felt relaxed compared to the bundle of nerves in front of him. Emmett pulled Fuller into a one-armed hug. "I think you better stick to decaf this morning."

Fuller socked him in the arm. "My imagination is running wild here, okay? I know you haven't signed with anyone yet—it'd be all over the news."

"Let's go sit down."

Truth be told, Emmett's stomach was a bit sour, and he wasn't entirely sure another cup of coffee was the best idea. He compensated by pouring half of the little silver pitcher of milk into his mug.

Fuller fidgeted with the sugar packs while Emmett screwed up his courage. This one was definitely harder than Sawyer. _If Fuller can't accept this, he's not your friend. _Right. That worked well when you were saying it to someone else, but sitting across the table from the man you shared a hotel room with for the better part of the summer, a guy who has the right to think he knows you pretty well? That shit was hard.

Fuller folded his hands on the red laminate surface, his white knuckles a dead giveaway that all was not well.

Emmett cleared his throat. "So, thanks for meeting me."

His friend met Emmett's eye. "You're welcome."

Okay, small talk was out of the question.

"I, uh . . . need to share something with you."

Fuller unclasped his hands and gripped the edge of the square table. "Oh-kaaaay?"

Emmett willed the words out, but they were good and stuck. "Fuck, this is really hard."

"Goddammit, Emmett. Are you sick or something?" Fuller's voice cracked a bit, and Emmett's heart sank.

"No, no, nothing like that. Okay, look, here it is . . . I'm gay."

Fuller's cheeks met his forehead in the space where his eyes were supposed to be. "_What_?"

Emmett leaned forward and spoke a little slower. "Did you not hear me?"

"Did you just say you're—"

"Shhh! Jesus! Keep your damn voice down." Emmett was beginning to question the wisdom of holding this conversation in a public place.

The vein in Fuller's neck bulged with the effort of whispering. "You're _gay_?"

"Yes." Emmett watched his friend warily; the man seemed ready to snap.

"Since when?"

Grinning, Emmett answered. "I'm not sure exactly when it happened. I'm guessing sometime between the sperm meeting the egg, and my first birthday."

"Thanks for the biology lesson," Fuller said, adding a significant eye roll. "What about Tammy?"

"Friend."

"Fooled me."

"Yeah, well . . ."

"Right. Kind of the point, eh? Wow, all this time . . ." Poor Fuller shook his head in utter disbelief. "Wait, have you actually _done_ something, or do you just _think_ you prefer men?"

"You're trying to find me a loophole?" Emmett chuffed. "Oh, I've done stuff. Would you like details?"

"No!" He threw up his hands to ward off the possible details about to be shared, then repeated his answer more quietly. "No, thank you."

Emmett chuckled. "I'm sorry. I know this is really weird, and I'm sure you have a million questions, and I'm trying to be patient, but _damn, _you should see your face right now!"

The tension in Fuller's facial features relaxed all at once, settling into a gentle frown. "Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Oh, I don't know. I had this crazy feeling it might make things weird between us?"

A nervous laugh escaped Fuller. He locked his gaze with Emmett's, seemingly reconciling this new paradigm with the reality he'd understood ten minutes earlier. Emmett tried to put himself inside Fuller's head, behind the intense stare, but he found Fuller's expression completely unreadable. So, Emmett did what was hardest for him—he sucked down more coffee, and he waited.

Fuller's eyebrows lifted and lowered again. He gave his head a slight shake and stared some more.

Emmett leaned in. "_Yes_?"

"You're not"—Fuller wagged a finger back and forth between Emmett and himself—"You don't—"

_Guess I should've seen that one coming. _Despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, Emmett cracked a smirk. "No offense, Fuller, but no, I'm not attracted to you."

A loud sigh left Fuller's mouth as he slumped back into the metal chair. "I don't know whether to be insulted or relieved."

Emmett's chuckle grew into an uncontrollable, side-splitting laugh, and soon they both were holding their bellies and wiping away tears. When Emmett could finally speak again, he broke up laughing halfway through. "What can I say, man? You're just not that hot."

"Fuck you."

Fuller's indignant expression set Emmett off again. "Wow. I needed a good laugh. Thank you."

"Does anyone else in the clubhouse know?"

"Just Trey."

Fuller nodded. "It's not easy to keep a secret from Trey."

"Nope."

"I assume he was cool with it."

"Yeah, I knew he would be. I just didn't want to burden him with the secret."

Fuller went quiet again, his glance bouncing all over the walls of the café. "So, why are you telling me now?"

Emmett sighed. "I'd planned to wait until my contract was nailed down, but then . . . it all just felt so dishonest. I mean, let them know who they're getting, right?"

"Why the hell would the team care who you sleep with?"

"In a perfect world, they wouldn't."

"Hell, Mac, I sure as shit don't need to tell _you_ we're a far cry from perfect, but once the game ball leaves the umpire's glove, I care about one thing: _Can this player produce? _I'm pretty sure management feels the same way."

Emmett wanted to believe him, but the devil on his shoulder had worked his pitchfork pretty deep under Emmett's skin. "What about all the rhetoric about role modeling and reputation?"

"Jesus, Mac! You're the squeakiest clean player we've got! Far as I know, you haven't murdered, raped, or assaulted anyone. You take on more public appearances in the community than anyone else. You're steroid-free; you barely drink. You show up to practices on time, and you work your ass off. Every man on the team looks up to you. Oh, and not for nothing, you're the best damn _starting_ pitcher in the league!"

Emmett attempted to hide his blush by pulling the tepid coffee to his lips. Fuller took it as an invitation to ramble on.

"Has it ever occurred to you that coming out might actually make you a role model for a thousand other guys who've been too afraid to step forward?"

This was heady stuff, and honestly, not the response Emmett had expected from his otherwise quiet teammate. "I feel like I owe you an apology, Fuller."

"For what? Thinking about guys while you were whacking off in the bed next to me? Hey, a man can't help his fantasies."

"That might be worth a separate conversation—_or not_—but no, that's not where I was going." They both paused for a much-needed smile. "I don't think I gave you enough credit, and I'm sorry for that."

"Hey, I don't blame you for being skittish. I'm sure there are a couple guys who won't want to shower with you after this comes out, but I think overall, you'll be very happily surprised. And if anyone dares to say anything on my watch, I will squash them."

Emmett's eyes teared up again. Perhaps this day wouldn't be as difficult as he'd imagined.

"Thanks, man." Emmett sent a fist halfway across the table, and Fuller met it with his own.

"So, I have to ask . . ." Fuller hesitated, leaving Emmett to fill in the blank space with a list of questions he'd hoped not to answer—mainly involving details of intimate acts. "Are you seeing someone?"

"I am."

"Mmhmm. Does he play chess by any chance?"

Apparently, Fuller hadn't been so blind to his activities after all.

"Yep."

"The infamous running coach you credit for your newly acquired patience?"

Emmett couldn't keep the smile off his face. "That's the one."

Fuller grinned, clearly proud of himself for fitting the final piece into the puzzle. "Seems like a great guy."

"He is. Way too good for the likes of me."

In a rare, unsarcastic moment, undoubtedly inspired by Emmett's spilling his guts all over the table, Fuller countered Emmett's modesty with a single syllable that said it all. "Nah."

Emmett took in the compliment with averted eyes.

Fuller pulled out his wallet, chuckling as he tossed a ten on top of the check. "Now go fucking sign your contract, and get your ass to Peoria."

"Will do."

XXX

Emmett was walking on clouds. After spending the better part of the morning making phone calls to the rest of his teammates and a few assorted friends, which thankfully turned out to be largely uneventful, Emmett went home, poured himself a whiskey, and phoned the Mariners' GM.

"Trader Jack" was in a tight spot, and Emmett fully appreciated his reluctance to take the call so close to the end of their contract negotiations. Only by sweet-talking Zduriencik's assistant did Emmett secure three minutes with the boss.

As Emmett had suspected, the man was all business. "Okay, Mac. You're on the clock. Go."

Nothing like a little pressure to make an awkward conversation ten times worse. "Hello, Mr. Z. Thank you for taking the call. I really appreciate your time."

"You and I are not having this conversation."

"Right. Okay." Emmett had stared down 3-0 counts with bases loaded without a fraction of this anxiety. Bolstered by all the support he'd received that morning, Emmett launched into his statement. "Not that I feel it will impede my performance in any way, but in the interest of full disclosure, I want you—I want the _Mariners_—to know that I'm gay."

_Welp, there it was, a fresh, steaming pile of dung plopped in the middle of the great ether pasture. At least it was over._

"You're telling me you're gay?"

_Had everyone suddenly gone deaf? _"Yes, sir. That is correct."

Zduriencik didn't respond again for a full thirty seconds, and when he did, there was no discernible emotion in his voice. "As I'm sure you're aware, the Mariners do not discriminate based on sexual orientation."

_No, but they could find a dozen politically correct justifications for canning his ass anyway, not the least of which being how long his agent had kept them twisting._

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks for the call, Emmett." _The brushoff._

"Thank you, sir."

_Call ended. _Emmett couldn't help but wonder if his career had just met the same fate.

Too stunned to move, Emmett texted Scott. **Shitting bricks here. Z quoted me labor laws.**

**Keep the faith and hold onto your phone.**

The second part was easy; the first tried Emmett's soul.

XXX

The call came in, a mere one hundred sixty-seven minutes later.

"Well, Mr. McCarty, I hope you won't get a swelled head when I tell you the Mariners just agreed to the highest contract in the history of baseball."

"Jesus, Scott. What'd you do?"

"Seven years, 200 million plus a 20 mill signing bonus, half now, half in October."

"Gimme a second?"

Emmett set the phone down on the table, dropped his head between his folded arms, and cried like a fucking baby. It wasn't about the money for money's sake, but the money happened to be a handy measure of a player's worth, and two hundred twenty million dollars was a very respectable measure.

He cleared his throat and picked up the phone. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be. You deserve it, Emmett. I shed a tear or two myself."

Emmett chuckled. "Bullshit. The avenging agent? I don't believe that for a second."

"Okay, maybe I didn't shed a tear, but I got moist. It's the closest I've ever come."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"Yes. Meet me at Safeco at five for the press conference. They're drawing up the papers now. And wear a jacket. This picture is going viral; we're making history here."

"Would you care to write my speech as well?"

"Nope, you'll do just fine. Speak from the heart. People will eat it up."

"My heart, huh? That poor thing's gonna need a rest after today."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Long day?"

Emmett cast his glance down the long list of checked-off names. "Good day."

"Good. Go for a jog, take a shower, have a shave—but not a close shave, Seattle loves your scruff—and use that extra sparkly whitening toothpaste."

"Hey, Scott, I think I forgot to say thank you."

"You can tell me in person while the ink is drying. See you at five."

This day was getting better and better, and the best was yet to come—sharing the news with the people he loved. With shaky hands, Emmett flipped his list over and started a new one. The page filled quickly with family and friends, but there was one name Emmett had purposely omitted. He had plans for Edward. Very big plans.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Did anyone else get moist? Heehee.

Emmett's record-breaking contract as of April, 2015 has already been surpassed. I'm thinking of taking up pitching next. Pays a bit better than writing romance. :)  
**XXX ~BOH**


	49. Chapter 49

**XXX CHAPTER 49 XXX**

**Still sitting around in your underwear? **

**Yep. How's your day going?**

**Everything went great. Lots of love and support. A couple of guys can't figure out why I don't want them.**

**HA! Lemme guess who!**

**I do have bad news for you. You're going to need to put some clothes on. I am taking you out on the town tonight!**

**OUT?**

**Yes. As in a DATE. **

**Sounds pretty crazy.**

**Living life outside the closet. Can you drive to the beach? I have a place in mind in the city.**

**Should I meet you at the restaurant?**

**No. IT'S A DATE, not a hookup! And it's a surprise. Be here by 4:30. **

**4:30? Are we going for the early bird special?**

A really hilarious image of the two of them, all old and gray, popped into Emmett's head. They were sitting across from each other in a big booth, bent over and studying their menus through dark-rimmed reading glasses. The waiter came to take their orders, and Edward was asking a million questions. Emmett jumped in and said, "He'll have the meatloaf and mashed potatoes." Of course, Edward protested and insisted he wanted the jambalaya, and Emmett had to remind him the sausage made him gassy.

**It's called pre-gaming.**

**Whatever you say. It's your day.**

_Oh, Edward, wait till you find out exactly how much of a day I'm having. _**You'll need a jacket.**

**This is starting to sound serious.**

**Nah. A tie would be serious. Stop trying to pump me for information!**

**Ok. 4:30 at the beach with my jacket. Anything else?**

**Maybe wear those pants you wore to the Capital Grille?**

**I'm supposed to remember what pants I wore last June? That was almost a year ago!**

**Do you remember what pants I wore?**

**Of course!**

Emmett wondered if there would ever be a point in their relationship when Edward would truly comprehend that Emmett had wanted him as much as he'd wanted Emmett. **The gray slacks you wore to drive me crazy. Those pants.**

**I didn't even know you were looking.**

Now _that_, Emmett believed. **Sure.**

**Let me ask you something. Was anyone NOT surprised today by your news? **It figured the professor would argue the point with logic.

**Nope.**

**I rest my case.**

**You're not just anyone. You're gay. Your system is more sensitive.**

**Apparently, my server was down.**

**It looked like it was up to me. :)**

**Groan. I believe we have hit the wall.**

**Suit yourself, Prof. See you soon.**

**Wait—you didn't hear from Scott today?**

**I have nothing to report.**

**Sorry.**

**It's all good. We're celebrating tonight. **

XXX

"Day-umm, Professor! Don't you look snazzy?" Emmett reached his hand to Edward's cheek. "And smooth as a baby's bottom. Just the way I like it."

Edward's face turned three shades of pink. "You're not so bad yourself. For a jock."

The two of them stood in the garage, eyeing each other up and down before climbing into the Spyder.

"Shouldn't you be opening the door for me?" Edward asked with a grin.

Truth be told, if Emmett hadn't been so nervous, he would've done exactly that. "Can I take a rain check on that one, sweetheart?"

"Just drive, loverboy."

It would only be a matter of minutes before Edward figured out their destination—unless Emmett could successfully distract him. "You smell especially nice. New aftershave?"

"Birthday present from my mother . . . about six years ago. I don't wear it much, but it seemed we were going all out tonight."

Emmett grinned at him. "You should wear it more often. And the jacket, too."

"I don't get many opportunities to dress up."

"Oh, you will. No escaping the spotlight now. Charity events, team soirees, all kinds of hoity-toity shit."

"Wonderful." Edward rolled his eyes, but Emmett saw the hint of a smile.

"Isn't it?" For once, the stream of appearances and dog-and-pony shows didn't seem so oppressive to Emmett, especially if Edward was going to show up looking that hot.

"Are we going to Safeco?"

_Well, that didn't take very long. _Emmett had no choice but to laugh. "Yes. I need to swing by and pick something up."

"Right now?"

Emmett shrugged. "Seaver said he left something for me in my locker. It's right on the way. You can stay in the car if you'd like." There was zero chance Edward would pass up an opportunity to visit the locker room, even if nobody was in it but them.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "I'll come in."

Stepping a bit heavier on the gas pedal, Emmett steered them to Safeco, purposely driving to an unpopulated parking section so as not to raise further suspicion. Edward reached for his door handle, and Emmett shot out of the car.

"Wait! Let me get that for you." Emmett opened the door to find Edward laughing and shaking his head.

Emmett's offered hand was batted away. "Cut that shit out!"

"Okay, but I'm paying for dinner, and you're putting out."

With an agreeable chuckle, Edward nodded. "So what else is new?"

Emmett took his hand a second later as they walked across the lot, and this time, Edward didn't protest. Mind racing and heart pounding, Emmett towed Edward toward the mayhem that was about to greet them on the other side of those doors. A sharp tug on his hand drew him back to Edward's side.

"What was that for?"

Edward smiled at Emmett as if seeing him for the first time—no, not the first time they met, Emmett realized, but the first time Edward took him out running. "Slow down."

"Whatsa matter? Your high heels bothering you?"

Edward rolled his eyes at the gentle dig. "It's your pace. Have you forgotten everything I've taught you?"

Grinning, Emmett shot back, "We're not running a marathon here, Coach. Just trying to get to the door."

"We're on a date. Let's enjoy it." Edward stepped forward with his usual maddening deliberateness.

Emmett sucked in a deep breath and matched Edward's pace though every step was a trial. Finally reaching the building, Emmett pulled open the door and led Edward down the narrow hallway to the locker room. The enormity of the moment gained mass with each step, weighing down Emmett's entire being like a yacht being dragged across miles of dry land.

They'd reached the door. Emmett debated saying something to Edward but opted for a kiss instead. "I'm really glad you're here."

Slightly dazzled by the unexpected show of emotion, Edward tilted his head. "In the hallway?"

"In general," Emmett answered.

"Okay."

Leaving Edward to shake his head and wonder about Emmett's sanity, he tugged open the door. Scott greeted him first, pulling Emmett into a tight hug.

"Ready?" he mumbled into Emmett's ear.

"So ready."

Scott nodded. "They're waiting for you in the press room." He craned his neck around Emmett's shoulder. "That your guy?"

Edward was standing by the door, looking mildly confused but mostly trying not to get in the way. Emmett gestured for him.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet. Scott Moran, this is Edward Cullen."

Scott led with an outstretched arm and gave Edward a big, boisterous handshake. "Very nice to meet you."

"Thanks. You as well."

"Okay, here's how this is gonna work." Scott wrapped his arm around Emmett's shoulders and guided him toward the press room while they talked. "You're going to sit down at the table and sign the papers—"

"Papers? It's done?"

Scott turned toward Edward and laughed. "You didn't tell him?"

Edward jumped in front of Emmett and grabbed him with both hands. "You're signing with the Mariners? _Right now_?"

"Yes, babe. Right this second. As soon as I can get my ass in there."

"Shit! Sorry!" Edward released Emmett from his grip and started to back away.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"I'm getting out of your way! Go sign!"

"I'm not doing this without you. Get over here!"

"What?" Edward looked back and forth between Scott and Emmett, waiting for one of them to explain.

Emmett took Edward's hands in his. "I want you next to me when I go in there."

"You do?"

"Yes."

Edward looked to Scott for confirmation, and he waved his hand toward the door. "Shall we?"

Emmett completely forgot his case of nerves, watching Edward attempt to manage his. Edward was a record with the needle stuck on, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." For a few seconds, Emmett worried he might actually need to leave Edward behind—for everyone's sake.

Scott shot Emmett a _deal-with-that_ glare as he reached for the handle.

"Edward!" Emmett's sharp tone cut through Edward's crazed mumbling. "I need you. Can you do this?"

Edward nodded and croaked out a semi-convincing, "Yes."

Emmett gave him a reassuring smile, and Scott opened the door. Shutters whirred, and flashes lit up the room—the thunder and lightning of the press was upon them. Jack Zduriencik stood and offered his hand.

"Mr. Z."

"Mac."

The room fell silent as Emmett and Scott took their seats together on the other side of the glass conference table. Edward found the nearest slice of wall to lean against. Papers were passed; documents were signed. Emmett posed with the GM while photographers captured the image from every imaginable angle.

Scott wrapped one arm around Emmett's back and shook his hand with the other. "We did it, Mac."

"_You_ did it."

Scott chuckled. "Well, I suppose you're right, but you had to stay patient. I know that isn't a small thing to ask when one's career is hanging in the balance."

Emmett craned his neck to look for Edward. "I've come to learn that patience isn't exactly my strong suit, but we're working on it. Aren't we, Edward?"

Hugging the wall for all he was worth, Edward offered a shy smile.

"They need you to hit the microphones now." Scott followed Emmett's anxious glance at his boyfriend. "I'll keep your man company. Go do your thing."

"Okay."

The questions came fast and furious: How many years would he be staying in Seattle? _As long as they'll have me._ What were the holdouts? _We felt it was important to push for a seven-year contract. _Your contract for a total of two hundred twenty million is the highest in the league. How did that feel? _It feels good. Was that a trick question?_

Emmett charmed them at every turn, taking their questions with ease and humor. The reporters ate it up.

"Can you top your performance from 2014?"

"Well, I don't see how we can do better than winning the Series."

Mr. Z gave him a tip of the head for that one. _Keep it about the team. Stay humble._

"Are you ready for spring training?"

Emmett chuffed. "I want to say yes, but I know I'll be a little bit rusty and a whole lot sore. It happens every year, but it's nothing our coaching staff can't work out by our first game."

"What have you been doing all winter to stay sharp?"

Emmett aimed a double-dimpled smile directly at Edward. "I've been studying the game of chess and coaching tee-ball."

"Any plans for the signing bonus?"

He answered without hesitation. "Yes. I'm going to take my boyfriend out to a very fancy dinner."

The room erupted with follow-up questions, flashes, and clicks. Emmett formed a fist with his pitching hand and raised it into the air. "Go, Mariners! Thank you, everyone."

Emmett left the platform and made a beeline for Edward. Edward's expression changed from sheer pride to pure terror as he realized the cameras and microphones were following Emmett's determined charge. Without giving Edward a chance to retreat, Emmett closed the distance between them and swooped in for a kiss. In the interest of good taste and family-friendly ratings, Emmett kept the kiss relatively clean and fairly quick, at least by his standards.

Still, it was enough to leave Edward breathless.

Emmett chuckled and took Edward by the hand. "I am famished. Can we get out of here, please?"

XXX

"This was a very good day." _And getting better by the second. _"Would you hurry up, please? I've been waiting all night for those pants to come off."

Edward glanced over at the bed. "What did Scott tell you about your patience?"

"He told me you should get your ass in this bed right now."

"Did he, now?"

Emmett figured his wise-ass comment would cost him a slow motion strip job at the very minimum, so he was caught completely off-guard when Edward tore off the rest of his clothing and hurled himself on top of a very naked Emmett.

"Wow. That's more like it!"

Edward rolled his eyes and clenched his thighs around Emmett's hips. "Okay, wise guy, flip me."

Emmett smirked. "Is this about that crack at the game yesterday?" It was nearly impossible to believe only thirty hours had passed since they'd rolled around together on the tee-ball field.

The whole world had changed since yesterday.

"Yep. You think I'm too light? Flip me."

After a couple of experimental hip thrusts, Emmett was pretty convinced he wasn't flipping anyone. "Nah, I kind of like you on top." _Not entirely untrue._

Edward gave him one of his famous I'm-onto-you smirks but sealed it with a kiss. "Tired of pitching, baby? Somebody probably should've told the Mariners before they re-signed you for the _Highest_. _Salary._ _In the history. Of baseball_."

"I will never get tired of pitching to you. Have I not made that clear?"

"Oh, abundantly," Edward said, adding a jiggle of his hips. "Buuuut, if you ever do want to take a walk on the wild side and see how the other half lives, you know I'm happy to give it a go for you."

"You are too fucking good to me, baby. Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll stick with door number one."

"I'm good with that, too."

Emmett had to chuckle at the look of mild relief on Edward's face. He had no doubt his partner would try anything for him—as Emmett happily would for Edward—but for now, this worked pretty fucking well. "You know, our celebration kiss is breaking Twitter tonight."

Edward grinned. "I was up to fifteen thousand retweets when we left the restaurant."

"It's because you're so fucking hot."

Edward's laughter shook the bed. "It's because you kiss like an animal, and every human being with functioning hormones is wishing they were at the other end of it."

Emmett shot up and cupped his hand behind Edward's neck. "How are _your_ hormones working tonight, Dr. Cullen?" Before Edward could answer the entirely rhetorical question, Emmett plundered his boyfriend—lips, tongue, teeth, and all.

The kiss wore on, with Edward's perfect ass gyrating against Emmett's erection until the singular thought—_must get inside_—obliterated every other impulse. Unwilling to break their kiss, Emmett tossed the lube to Edward, who rose onto his knees to work his fingers inside. Ever the helpful partner, Emmett ran his hands down Edward's back, squeezed the sweet fleshy cheeks, and stretched them apart.

A cool, slick hand wrapped around Emmett's cock, drawing a deep groan. The two lovers worked in well-rehearsed tandem, Emmett's stiff rod held in place while Edward lined up above him.

They held their kiss until the rutting sucked away all available oxygen, settling instead for nipping at each other's lips and noses and necks and ears. The advantage to not kissing while fucking, Emmett had figured out long ago, was that he could watch Edward's face: the intensity burning behind the shimmering green depths, the expressive arch of his eyebrows, the curl and twist of a mouth torn between ache and ecstasy. And of course, the occasional grin, which was possibly Emmett's favorite of all of Edward's expressions.

Between shallow breaths, Emmett probed into the mind resting against his own forehead. "What are you . . . grinning about . . . over there?"

"Just thinking . . . Can you imagine if they got hold of _this_ footage?"

Emmett sent a rough thrust inside his lover. "Kinky."

Edward's grin turned into a full-blown smile. He leaned in and found Emmett's tongue with his own.

Emmett saw his opportunity, and like the champion he was, he seized it by the balls. Wrapping two tight arms around Edward's lower back, Emmett heaved his weight forward, flattening Edward's back against the mattress.

One very surprised lover blinked up at him. "What the hell was that?"

With a smug waggle of his eyebrows, Emmett answered, "Consider yourself flipped."

XXX

They slept like two rocks—two very much in love, out and proud, perfectly contented rocks.

Edward was first to stir, and he wasn't his usual quiet, considerate self when he woke. "Good morning, sunshine."

Emmett's eyes cracked open to the bright light blaring in through the opened shades. He grabbed Edward's pillow and pulled it over his head with a loud groan. "It's my last day off! Let me sleep!"

The mattress dipped with Edward's weight; the covers were pulled away.

"It's already 10:30. Your adoring public is waiting for you. Get up and be adored."

Emmett tossed the pillow across the bed. "10:30? Why the hell did you let me sleep so late?"

Shaking his head, Edward answered, "I just woke up, myself. You must have a jillion phone calls to get to."

"A jillion, huh?" Emmett smirked. "I think I might be rubbing off on you. Oh wait, yes, I did—several times."

"Charming. I'll put the coffee on while you hop in the shower."

Emmett chuffed. "Is that a hint?"

"It was a plea."

Emmett's glance drifted to Edward's lap. "No offense, Professor, but you're not exactly clean as a whistle over there."

"I noticed that, too. I'm getting in the shower as soon as you're done."

"Or, we could conserve our precious natural resources and shower together . . ." Emmett applied all his powers of persuasion, but Edward was already shaking his head.

"Oh, no. If I get in there with you, we won't come out before noon!"

"Damn, you've got a point there." Drained of all problem-solving skills, Emmett gave up. "In that case, I'll meet you at the coffeemaker in ten."

The general sense of well-being and rightness with the world had followed Emmett into Sunday, it seemed. He emerged from his shower with a heart that was both filled to the brim and light as helium.

Tying a lazy knot in his sweatpants, Emmett stared into his tee-shirt drawer. Definitely a day for Smiley Joe. As he pushed his arms through the sleeves of the well-worn gray tee, Emmett smiled wider than the orange face sitting on his chest.

Bracing himself, Emmett unplugged his phone from the charger and glanced down at the screen. Eighty-nine missed calls. Seventy-five voice messages. One hundred thirty-eight texts. Three hundred twelve emails. _Oh boy._

_Need coffee now._

The heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee drew Emmett into the kitchen. A steaming mug of coffee sat on the table, and in the seat across from it sat Emmett's steamy man, wearing a pair of sleep pants he'd left at Emmett's for just such occasions.

Edward glanced up from his phone. "Our kiss was favorited by over five thousand people so far."

"Holy shit! Maybe we should consider a career in porn."

Edward chuckled. "Why don't you ask Scott if your new contract has a morality clause?"

"How about _your_ contract? You didn't get any flak from the school, did you?"

"It seems Rosalie has been fielding phone calls from any 'concerned parents' for me."

"She's a good woman to have on your team," Emmett said.

"Truly. We'll have to see what tomorrow brings, but you don't have to worry about me, Em. I've been out for fifteen years, and it was all over my resume when they hired me—my professional and community affiliations. There's no way they could take any kind of action against me, and nobody's even hinting at it."

"Okay. I'd hate for you to suffer any backlash."

"I can't imagine any level of backlash that would make me regret this for one second . . . _although,_ I did get a few interesting messages tweeted at me."

Somewhat relieved to know Edward's job sounded safe, Emmett's worries shifted to his ɸ69fanatic persona. "How interesting?"

"Just a wee bit colorful, nothing you haven't heard before. They're either ignorant or just plain jealous." A certain twinkle appeared in Edward's eye. "I seem to have a guardian angel tweeter or two fighting the good fight, so I don't have to involve myself. Plus, not that I care, but for every follower who left, I picked up a thousand new ones."

"Huh! Lemme know when you overtake me."

"Pshh, yeah right. They're just trying to get a glimpse of you through me. Maybe I should start posting candids of you in all your glory."

"Speaking of my glory, did I tell you Scott thinks I should do underwear ads?"

"Fuck me! Really?" Edward looked like the love child of Christmas morning and the Fourth of July.

"You are a piece of work, Professor. You can pretty much see me naked any time you want, and you're sitting over there getting excited about underwear?"

"You're right. I should stand much closer." Edward rounded the table and pushed Emmett's tee-shirt out of his way. "You should do Calvin Klein. Classic, elegant, tastefully sexy . . . it's you all over."

Emmett's fingers found their way to Edward's hair as he drifted into Edward's imaginary photo shoot fantasy. "Now that I've come out, maybe I'll start getting jock straps instead of panties thrown onto the field."

Edward responded by dragging his teeth over Emmett's nipple, pulling a groan and a low chuckle. Glancing up at Emmett, Edward shot him a smirk. "That's your big thought right now?"

Emmett shrugged. "Actually, I was thinking about our spirit cheer."

"About how much the team appreciated me?"

Emmett's chest shook with laughter. He supposed he could have taken the easy route just then, lied and said, yes, that's exactly what he had in mind. _Meh,_ Edward would've seen right through him anyway.

"If you want to know the truth, I was wondering how many lumps a lumpsucker could suck if a lumpsucker could suck lumps."

_Nope, Edward wasn't the least bit surprised. _He reached out and cupped the lump in question through the thick sweatpants. "I think that all depends on how much of a sucker the lumps are for being sucked."

"Aww, crap. You know I'm a major league sucker, and it's so unfair to tease me right now. I have a week's worth of messages to return today."

Edward dropped his hand with a disgruntled sigh. "Okay, business before pleasure. There's a shower with my name on it."

"Well, get to it, Dr. Dial."

"Dear lord, that was awful." Edward patted Emmett's belly as he walked past him. "Might want to check your Twitter feed."

Emmett slipped into the chair and picked up the cup of coffee, still hot enough despite the distraction. The shower came on in the background, and Emmett paused to imagine Edward stripping off his pajama bottoms, a thought that made Emmett enormously happy even if he couldn't be there to see it.

_My Twitter feed, eh? _

Emmett tapped the Twitter app, and his screen sprang to life with activity. Clearly, Edward had spent the last ten minutes scouring the Twitterverse and retweeting everything pertinent to Emmett's deal, adding a bigmac hashtag to organize the announcements into one long column on Emmett's feed. There must've been fifty or more just from major outlets, not counting the fan sites and individuals. Edward was not only shaking his pompoms; he was holding Emmett's hand as he walked through messages from ESPN, NBC Sports, MLB, Mariners, and Rockies SPORtalk.

Naturally, every message retweeted by Edward was a glowing variation on the theme. Emmett was sure he'd find nastiness if he peered beyond the handpicked messages, but for now, he was content to view the commentary through his partner's rose-colored glasses.

**Big Mac steps out of closet, into millions**

**7-yr $220MM deal sealed with a kiss**

**Mariners sign Cy Young winner to biggest deal in history.**

Emmett chuckled when he came upon the tweet from Queerty: **Gay baller takes in record load. **A sense of humor was definitely required if one were to survive this media blitz.

Nearly lost among the headlines was the tweet that brought the biggest smile to Emmett's face: **ɸ69fanatic: ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball Being able to tell the whole world I'm in love with Big Mac.**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Awww, dang! That brings us to the end of "Benched," (did it ring any bells for you?) and the end of "Wild Pitch" proper. I really hope you all enjoyed the look back as much as I enjoyed writing it. I do have a little (big) treat in store for you on Tuesday, a massive epilogue to answer every question I could think of, and many that were posed by you guys when I asked for suggestions. If you need a reminder of the underwear ads Kellan posed for, feel free to visit my patch on FB. :)

**XXX ~BOH**


	50. EPILOGUE

**XXX EPILOGUE XXX**

"Okay, try to smile, Edward . . . That's better . . . Turn toward each other just a little more . . . Can you unclench your jaw please, Edward?"

"Loosen up, Professor." Emmett spoke softly out the side of his mouth so only I could hear. "You could crack a walnut between your ass cheeks!"

"He's not taking a picture of my ass cheeks."

"He should. They look hot in those jeans."

The camera fell away from Jake's face, revealing his frustrated expression. "Edward, could you possibly relax just a little bit? Your eyebrows look like Mr. Spock's."

Emmett snorted, and I jabbed him in the side with my elbow.

"Ouch! Careful! I'm pitching tomorrow."

"I'm fully aware of your schedule." Giving his uniform a thorough once-over, I said, "You could save yourself some time and just sleep in that."

Emmett placed his lips at the edge of my ear. "As if you wouldn't tear it off me."

He had me there, and we both knew it. Over the years, in the privacy of our home, Emmett had granted me the chance to live out my fantasy of stripping him out of his Mariners uniform—mostly on special occasions. This "At Home with Big Mac and the Professor" piece for _Sports Illustrated_ was far from such an occasion, but I had a feeling he'd reward me later for putting up with the massive invasion of privacy.

"Let's get a couple from the back, please." Jake circled his finger in the air and nodded encouragingly.

Emmett's smug smile practically screamed, "I told you so!" They _were_ getting my clenched butt cheeks, after all. We turned dutifully, bumping shoulders and lining up our two sixty-nines. Emmett's was pristine, as usual, the bold, teal numbers standing out against the crisp, white background, whereas my fourteen-year-old jersey was covered in scribbled autographs and whatever graffiti Emmett had seen fit to decorate me with over the years. He had a thing about marking me, and honestly, it was pretty hot.

"How about putting your arms around each other's waists?"

Emmett draped his arm around me first, hooking his thumb through my belt loop and tugging me into his side. I followed suit with slightly less fervor.

"That looks great . . . almost done here."

"Y'hear that, Edward?" Emmett jiggled the hand at my side. "He likes your smile much better from the rear."

A muffled laugh came from _SI'_s lead baseball writer, who was standing to one side and jotting down notes.

"Oh my god, you're not writing that, are you? Emmett, do something!"

"Okay." Emmett leaned over and kissed me—not what I had in mind, but it did provide a pleasant distraction for me from the media assault.

The shutter whirred with rapid-fire determination until Emmett unlocked his lips from mine with a giant grin. "It's all good. We get to review every picture and every word before the story goes to print, right, Tom?"

"Of course."

I spun around to address Jake directly. "And the pictures we don't use? What happens to those? Are they going to end up in some bloopers reel?"

Jake let the camera rest at the end of its neck strap. "First of all, that's unethical." With a slight chuckle, he added, "And secondly, Tammy would cut off my balls."

"See? All good." Emmett gave my hand a squeeze.

"Thanks, guys. I'm all set with the posed photos. I'll just hang out and get some candids while you chat with Tom."

I wasn't all that reassured as Tom Verducci, the same reporter who'd blown the lid off steroid use in 2002, flipped to a fresh page in his steno pad. "Shall we start the tour?"

"Sure." Emmett took the lead, and I followed close behind, fully prepared to pounce on any out-of-place knickknacks or intimate items that may have escaped my thorough cleaning. "You'll probably want to start in the trophy room."

I checked my watch—3:45. The twins would wake from their naps in forty-five minutes, tops, and then I'd have a ready excuse to beg off. Emmett was more than capable of fielding the questions for both of us; he already knew ninety-nine percent of my answers before they came out of my mouth, and he was so much more relaxed in front of the cameras than I could ever be.

I supposed becoming the "King of Calvin Klein" could have that effect on a person. Emmett seemed equally at ease with or without his clothes on. Either way, number sixty-nine still held my full attention, and I figured he always would.

Tom followed us into the room and took a slow, appreciative spin. The biggest wall was divided into three columns, one for each of the World Series the Mariners had won with Emmett on the mound. At eye level hung the three LeRoy Neiman paintings rendered of Emmett in glorious motion, each of which captured a different element of the grace and beauty that was Emmett McCarty. Above each painting sat a souvenir cap and ball from the Series, signed by every player on that year's team. In the recessed opening beneath the Neimans, a Plexiglas case held Mac's jersey from the final game pitched, along with the corresponding World Series ring, each a work of art crafted from white and yellow gold, rubies, and diamonds.

I had implored Emmett to store the rings in a safer location, but Mac had been insistent. "What good are the rings if I'm just going to stick them inside a dark safe nobody ever opens?" I could hardly fault Emmett for wanting to occasionally visit his hard-won trophies though I had undoubtedly made more trips to the trophy room than Emmett over the years.

"Mind if I ask what's in all these albums?" Tom moved in front of the row of scrapbooks.

I handed him my most recent masterpiece—_Emmett McCarty, Mariners, 2025_. "Basically, each volume is an almanac of Emmett's season. There's a scorecard filled out for each game he pitched"—I flipped through the pages while the other two peered over my shoulder—"and some handpicked articles written about each game . . ."

Tom smiled as he came upon a story he'd written. "I remember that night. You were on fire."

"That was one of my better nights," Emmett agreed.

"Emmett's mother used to keep scrapbooks, but once I came into the picture . . ." I didn't want to step on any toes, but Mamó McCarty's attention to detail left a bit to be desired.

Emmett finished my sentence with a chuckle. "Nobody keeps records like the doc here."

"You'd be a handy guy to keep on staff."

I had to laugh at that one. "I'm pretty happy with my day job, but thanks just the same."

Emmett turned toward the adjacent wall. "Speaking of that day job, let me give you a tour of my Edward wall. On the top three shelves are all the trophies from his days as a lad on the chess circuit, and here are the six titles he's brought to Seven Hills Academy as coach of the chess team." Emmett paused to kiss my cheek while Tom admired the hardware. "Below those are all the teaching awards Edward has raked in. Here's the Milken Family Foundation National Educator Award from 2018, the 2022 Washington Teacher of the Year Award, and this little baby"—Emmett lifted the framed certificate signed by the president and handed it to Tom—"the Presidential Award for Excellence in Mathematics and Science Teaching for 2024."

"Okay, Emmett. The man can see for himself."

Emmett tightened his arm around my shoulders. "Sorry, Professor. You know I get a little carried away when it comes to your accomplishments. That's probably why they voted me president of your fan club."

I leveled my husband with an eye roll so big, I actually felt my eyeballs hit the top of their sockets. "'_They.' _My fan club of one."

"You see what I'm dealing with here?" Emmett and Tom exchanged chuckles. "If they gave out awards for modesty, we wouldn't have enough shelf space for all the trophies this guy would win."

Grin firmly in place, Tom set the frame back in its spot. "I'm sensing Edward would like us to move on."

"Yes, please."

Emmett took my hand and led us through the massive great room with its bank of floor-to-ceiling French doors opening out to the water. We'd spent many an evening sitting on the porch in our matching Adirondack chairs, staring out over Puget Sound while catching up on some crazy thing that happened at school or one of Emmett's many juicy insider baseball stories or the twins' adventures of the day.

"Is it true you gave this house to Edward as a wedding gift?"

Emmett turned back and locked his gaze on mine._ Don't worry, baby, _his deep green eyes assured me, _our secrets will stay that way. _This reporter didn't need to know that Emmett had bought the sprawling waterfront estate after my exposure therapy "grand finale."

**#whatilove#**

_"We're doing _what_?" My heart pumped faster than a hummingbird's wings. _

_"Relax, baby. Deep breath." Emmett took my hands as he talked me through my controlled breathing exercises. "That's better."_

_"Did you just say"—inhale—"you're taking me"—exhale—"to the _top_"—inhale—"of the Space Needle?" Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._

_"Dr. Banner says you're ready. This is the last step in your desensitization plan, remember?"_

_"IT'S STEP TEN! NOBODY GETS TO STEP TEN!"_

_Emmett's eyes widened into "Oh, shit" mode, and he tightened his grip on my hands. "Edward, I'm going to be with you every step of the way, and Dr. Banner is on call . . . just in case."_

_Just in case. Just in case I have a panic attack somewhere between the ground and the observation deck 520 feet in the air. Just in case my heart gives out in the claustrophobic elevator. Just in case I flip over the guardrail and crash to a bloody, excruciating agony of a death._

_"Em, I don't know if I can do this." The confession was crushing, especially with Emmett standing right in front of me, believing in me with every fiber of his being._

_"You know what? Sometimes we need someone else to do the knowing for us. You stayed at my place for ten days running before I left for Toronto last week. We had dinner on the balcony four of those nights. You even carried on a normal conversation with me in the elevator. You're so much better now, but you'll never be able to put this behind you until you take this final step."_

_I hated to admit it, but Emmett was making sense. "What about all the other people? What if I freak out and humiliate myself? And you?"_

_Emmett smiled. Shit, he knew he had me. "I rented out the place from six to midnight tonight. There won't be a soul there but us and a very discreet private guide."_

_"That seems like an awfully long time."_

_"We don't have to stay the whole time. I just wanted us to be able to enjoy the sunset from the top. Say 'okay,' Edward." He closed the gap between our lips and sealed the deal with a kiss before I could protest again._

_"Okay, Edward," I parroted, adding a scowl just in case he didn't get that I wasn't exactly thrilled about this._

_Emmett grinned so wide, I almost forgot how terrified I was. I heard him say, "Let's go," before he pulled me to some sketchy side door and whipped out his cell phone. "We're ready."_

_The glass elevator ride was a forty-one-second blur of deep breaths and distracting kisses and pep talks and jokes and Emmett being Emmettful and making me believe I could do anything with him at my side. I kept my eyes closed tight until the bright _ding!_ announced our arrival at the observation deck. _

_I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire—a 360-degree view of the city from way the hell too high. My stomach twisted and rolled._

_"I don't feel so good."_

_Emmett and the elevator guy exchanged looks of grave concern. Emmett's free hand snuck into the pocket where Dr. Banner waited only a speed dial away. Fuck. I hated disappointing Emmett._

_"Let me just go splash some water on my face or something."_

_"Want me to come with?"_

_"No, Em. I'll be fine." I added a solemn nod._

_When I came out five minutes later, Emmett was pacing at the door. "You okay?"_

_"Yes." As I assured him, I realized I might not have been lying._

_He smiled cautiously. "Can you take a little walk with me?"_

_"Okay."_

_Emmett took my hand again, and together we stepped out onto the platform surrounding the needle. The soft breeze hit my face, which helped and didn't. Fresh air was always good, but it drove home the fact that there was nothing but a mesh cage between me and certain death._

_"Breathe," Emmett reminded me. _

_Emmett took the outside rail, placing his body between me and my worst fear. I gazed out at the Seattle skyline—inhale, exhale. Watching the horizon wasn't as scary as tipping my face to the ground below. Emmett seemed satisfied. He took a step; I matched his pace. I couldn't look at the view without also seeing the man I loved so deeply, and that worked for me._

_As we moved counterclockwise, the reds and oranges of the horizon deepened, as if putting on a show in honor of my great accomplishment. Meanwhile, Emmett murmured reassurances all along the way. "You're doing it . . . so proud of you . . . keep breathing . . ."_

_I slowed at the reflection of the sunset on the Puget Sound, casting my eyes downward for the first time. My breath caught in my throat. "It's spectacular."_

_Emmett turned, teary-eyed, and kissed me. "_You're_ spectacular."_

_I rolled my eyes, but he knew I didn't mean it._

_We continued along the catwalk until Alki Beach came into view. "Hey, there's your apartm—hey, what did you do?"_

_There, in front of me, was a metal stand holding an ice bucket with a bottle of Cristal resting inside it. Emmett moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach and dipping his face into my neck. _

_"Look how far you've come. When I first brought you home, you could barely make it up the elevator in my building. Now . . . here we are on top of the world together. I think that's worth celebrating." _

_I dropped my head back onto Emmett's shoulder and closed my eyes. I was fucking proud of myself. "What'd you have in mind?"_

_Emmett chuckled into my neck, sending shockwaves below the surface of my skin. "What'd I have in mind, or what can we get away with up here?"_

_"God, you're such a pervert."_

_"Pervert? I'm romantic! It's romantic as hell!" Just to prove it, Emmett popped the cork on the Cristal. "Shit, I forgot to ask for glasses. Oh well . . . Here's to you, my brave professor!" Holding the bottle to my lips, Emmett tipped it back and poured until I protested, then took a long swig for himself. "This is some good shit right here. Alice was right!"_

_I smiled at my outlandish boyfriend. He'd gone to a whole lot of trouble arranging this. Emmett McCarty never did anything halfway._

_"Thanks for all this, Emmett. It was really generous of you."_

_Emmett forced more champagne down my gullet. "So, what do you think? Are you all cured now? Should we string a tightrope over to my penthouse and walk home?"_

_The earth wobbled a wee bit at that thought. "It's not exactly like that. I feel like I can manage this if I have to, but I'd still rather be on the ground."_

_Staring out toward his building thoughtfully, Emmett tipped the bottle back and took an extra-long drink. When he moved the champagne, I could see the distress etched in his forehead._

_"In that case, I think I should move."_

_"Move? You love your place."_

_"I do. But I love you more, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable even for a second. Plus, it's too long of a commute for you if you stay over on a school night. When I have a night game during the week, we end up sleeping apart, and I hate that."_

_"I hate it, too."_

_"Then, let's find something that works for both of us."_

**#whatilove#**

"Yes," Emmett answered. "Edward and I both love the beach, and we needed a place that was closer to his school. We were on the same page early on about the pitter-patter of little feet, so even though we were years away from having kids, we made sure to find a place with plenty of space inside and, of course, a lawn to toss around a ball."

"Or two," I chimed in.

"Right," Emmett said with a glance toward the nursery. "Anyway, why don't I show you the kitchen? I understand it's very state-of-the-art, but I should probably let Chef Boyardee take over this part of the tour."

We filed into the kitchen with Tom and Jake in tow, and they all looked expectantly at me. I cleared my throat. "Basically, it's a kitchen. Over here on this part of the counter are the only appliances Emmett's allowed to touch—the microwave, the toaster, and his Vitamix."

Tom sniggered as he took notes. "I understand you've really gotten into baking in a big way, Edward."

"I find it relaxing—all the precision and chemistry involved. I can't wait until the twins are old enough to bake cookies with me."

Emmett chuckled. "I wouldn't count on too much precision from those two for a while. They can barely find their mouths with the Cheerios."

"Speaking of the twins, you said you and Edward were on the same page about wanting children. You both knew right from the start?"

"Actually, I was quite happy being an uncle until Edward came along."

I looped my thumb through the belt loop at the back of Emmett's uniform. "You're a fantastic uncle, and I knew you'd be an amazing dad."

Emmett grinned as the shutter clicked and purred in the background. "You see how he does that, right? My husband has this way of making me feel like a rock star whether I'm clinching the World Series or giving the twins their bath. It's completely irresistible. I'm hopelessly addicted."

A blush heated my face, and I feared Jake was catching the whole thing on film. "That was my master plan."

"The truth is, I watched Edward with those kids on the tee-ball field. I listened to his stories about the students in his classes and the kids on his chess teams. The man has a natural talent for bringing out the best in people. Look what he did for me! I knew he'd make a phenomenal dad, and I learn from his example every day."

I locked my gaze forward, but Emmett's loving regard caressed me from the inside out.

Tom craned his neck toward Jake. "You're getting this, right?"

With the camera plastered to his face, Jake answered, "Oh, yes."

The grasshopper-under-the-magnifying-glass treatment was starting to get to me. "Perhaps we should move on?"

Tom signaled for Jake to finish up. "Sure. Would you mind showing us the boudoir?"

Emmett fluttered his eyelashes at me. "Did you make the bed this morning, darling?"

"Have I ever not made the bed?"

"Well, there have been a few days we've never actually _left_ the bed."

"I'm sure _Sports Illustrated_'s audience would really love to hear about that."

"I'm all ears." Tom grinned, upper body angled forward.

"Moving on . . ." I led the parade to the master bedroom and scanned the room for stray towels or lube or dirty socks that didn't make the hamper. Everything was in order.

Tom's gaze landed on the life-size photo from Emmett's first Calvin campaign—my all-time favorite. Emmett's right shoulder angled down and forward, so it looked as if he were about to pounce right out of the frame. His left foot rested against his right thigh, exposing the full expanse of green perfection—the boxer briefs and everything beneath them—between Emmett's legs. His deliciously toned obliques bulged above the thick waistband, melting into a series of rippling abs that carried the eye to a flawless set of pecs a person could lick for days. You couldn't fully appreciate Emmett's shoulders from the pose, but even shadowy Emmett shoulders were sexy as fuck.

As delectable as Emmett's physical gifts were, what always got me about this photo was the lusty look in his eyes. I knew to stand just in front of Emmett's left thigh to experience the full blast of that hungry glare.

Real life Emmett seemed suddenly, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "Yeah, um . . . Edward likes that one."

I let out a guffaw. "Anyone with a pulse likes that one."

Tom didn't respond, but he also didn't turn away from the photo. Meanwhile, Jake busied himself taking pictures of the bed before moving into the bathroom.

Tom half-turned, his gaze landing on the horizontal of Emmett that filled the wall over the headboard: Emmett in a pair of white Calvins, gracefully balanced on his right hand and his fully extended right leg, hips tilted toward the camera so the underwear, ahem, was on full display.

"And where do you keep the half-naked pictures of Edward?"

Emmett angled his hip in front of mine, subtle yet effective. Tapping a fingertip to his temple, he answered. "Right up here, where they'll stay."

Duly chastised, Tom chuckled. "Message received."

"I fully recognize I've gotten off easy," I said. "I'm not the one plastered all over the internet and Route 5 and the pages of _GQ_ and _Details. _You should've seen how much arm-twisting I had to do to get Emmett to let me hang those in here."

Emmett sniggered. "If I recall, it wasn't my _arm_ you twisted."

Tom tactfully ignored the comment. "With all this publicity, does jealousy ever become an issue?"

Though the question was clearly meant for me, Emmett answered before I had a chance to open my mouth. "Hell, yes! I am insanely jealous. You have no idea what it's like . . . No offense to your wife, Tom; I'm sure she gets her share of lookers, but the Professor here? I don't like to let him out of my sight."

Tom stared at Emmett, probably checking for sarcasm or dementia. Was Emmett teasing? I couldn't be sure. There couldn't possibly be a lingering doubt he'd ruined me long ago for other men—even before we met online. Did he like sharing me? He did not. He wasn't jealous around his straight teammates, but Emmett had never been able to truly relax on the few occasions we'd gone out dancing at clubs. Of course, Emmett always attracted twenty times the attention I ever did, but he could not have been more oblivious, especially since Bridget and Little Mac had come into our family.

Not one to miss a possibly juicy story, Tom dug a bit deeper. "Would you say that getting married changed that at all, Emmett?"

"Yes, of course." Emmett's fingertips ghosted across my left hand, relaxing only once they came to rest on the familiar rings I'd worn since our wedding day eight years ago. "Those other guys can eat their hearts out. This sexy hunk of man is mine, and feel free to quote me on that."

"Will do." Stepping closer, Tom held out his hand. "So it's true about the different rings?"

Emmett lifted our joined left hands into Tom's palm, my ring finger sporting the Celtic double love knot and Emmett's circled by the tungsten chess board. "Yep, it's true."

"I don't suppose you'd share the back story?" Tom gave our rings a thorough examination before releasing our hands.

Emmett glanced at me for permission, and I shrugged. I happened to have fallen in love with a gregarious, fun-loving guy very much in the public eye, and sharing our love for each other was something that brought Emmett great joy. He loved to hold hands almost as much as he loved to kiss, and if anyone had a problem with that, we certainly never let it slow us down. If Emmett McCarty wanted arm candy, I was beyond delighted to be his lollipop.

We'd opened up our now-famous Twitter banter—about 50% baseball, 25% Emmett driving me nuts with Instagrams, jokes, and other assorted Big Mac-isms, maybe 10% serious tweets related to his foundation, and the remainder a bunch of sappy, romantic nonsense—to our followers, reserving the racier messaging for private texts. From the retweets and replies, I'd say they were a hit. As Emmett's popularity grew in social media, the endorsements piled up. It didn't hurt that Big Mac was the hottest pitcher to hit Major League Baseball in this decade.

"I'll let Edward handle this one."

"Heh . . . okay. I guess it's no secret I'm a bit of a planner—"

Emmett guffawed, then quickly apologized. "Continue."

"So, I get it in my head to propose to Emmett the day of the season opener, Sunday, April 3, 2016. He was scheduled to pitch that afternoon, so obviously, I wanted to get the proposal out of the way much earlier in the day. As it was a weekend, we were staying at the beach. I made some excuse to go down to my car late Saturday night—"

"He suddenly panics that his registration had expired, and he absolutely has to check before he can sleep. I offer to run down and check for him, but he won't hear of it."

"I ride down the elevator, jog out a little ways on the beach so he won't see it right away, and carve out, 'Marry Me, 69' in the sand."

"Aww." Tom had stopped writing and was now staring with rapt attention.

"So he's a bit sweaty because he's basically just jogged two miles . . ."

"And Emmett says, 'Where the hell did you park your car, Spokane?"

Enjoying the retelling, Emmett laughed again at his own joke.

"So to throw him off the scent, I tell him the elevator ride was a bit rocky."

"Right, your claustrophobia issue," Tom said.

With the support of my therapist—and, of course, Emmett—I'd "come out" as a recovered claustrophobe after the Space Needle exercise to hopefully serve as the "after picture" for others suffering from crippling phobias.

"Yes, I was still in the midst of my desensitization. Anyway, it worked. Emmett dropped the subject. I toss and turn all night, replaying the proposal in my head until I have the exact words I want to say."

Emmett cut in with an affectionate eye roll. "The planning thing . . ."

I gave him an elbow in the gut. "Shush! In the morning, I safety pin the ring into the inside of my shorts pocket. We ride downstairs, stretch a bit, and start running. My heart's jackhammering in my chest—"

"His pace was _whacked_! I could hardly keep up!"

"We get to the place where I'd so carefully etched my proposal into the sand—"

Emmett leaned in front of me again. "And it's gone!"

Tom's jaw dropped. "Holy shit! No!"

I confirmed the sad state of affairs with a nod of my head. "Holy shit, _yes_. Of course I knew the tide schedule, so I had done my engraving high enough on the beach to avoid the ocean, but some kids must've been fooling around that morning or maybe they combed the beach . . . I really don't know how it got erased."

Emmett picked up the story where I'd left off. "He starts acting really funny: slows down nearly to a walk, and once he starts jogging again, he keeps looking back over his shoulder like the Loch Ness monster herself is chasing after us. He even stumbles and nearly face-plants in the beach, and Edward _never_ stumbles. He's a damn gazelle."

"Did you suspect something?"

"I suspected he was excited about the season opener." Emmett grinned at me and scrubbed his knuckles along the top of my head. "He gets very excited when I pitch."

I gave him my best you're-gonna-get-it-later face, which he ignored, as usual. "When we passed the spot again on the way back, I debated dropping down onto one knee in the sand and just doing the deed anyway, but my heart was in shreds."

Emmett leaned forward and stage-whispered, "Very sensitive."

We'd see who was sensitive later when I got hold of Emmett's nipples with my teeth. "I ride the elevator all the way back up to the thirty-fifth floor with that ring banging against my leg and mocking me. I know I'm in the wrong frame of mind to propose now, and I'm running out of time before Emmett has to leave. I figure I'll regroup and make a new plan after he leaves."

"Meanwhile, oblivious to all of Edward's inner turmoil, I had set my own little plot into motion. The opening day festivities were scheduled to begin at 12:30, so I knew Edward and Carlisle would be in their seats well before noon. Unbeknownst to Edward, I'd invited my whole family and Edward's mother and Tammy—"

"And me." Jake emerged from our bathroom with a wide grin on his face.

Emmett continued with his story. "Right, they were all hidden away in one of the luxury suites, poised and ready for the big reveal—"

"Emmett lines up with the rest of the 2015 World Series Champion Mariners while they announce each player and hand out the rings. I'm up there in the stands mopping up my tears with the mustard-covered napkin from my hot dog."

With a giant grin on his face, Emmett said, "And I believe the rest of the story is public knowledge, but if you need to jog your memory, right behind you are the pictures Jake took that day." The three of us turned to the row of photos lining the third wall of our bedroom. "Here's Edward's expression when they announced, 'Please turn your attention to the scoreboard.' And of course, the proposal."

Jake had truly captured the perfect image of Emmett's tweet lit up in digital yellow lights against the black background:

**ɸ****bigmac69**** ɸ****69fanatic:  
MARRY ME, PROFESSOR!**

"And there's my dumb face when I figured out what was happening . . ."

Emmett brushed his thumb down my cheek. "And there's your dumb face when you started crying—"

Jake stepped in to help. "And there's Emmett's dumb face when _he_ started crying."

Tom followed the sequence, studying each photo in turn. "How did you capture all these images at the same time, Jake?"

"I didn't. I had about ten friends in on it. Since I was in the box, I was focused on getting the close-up reactions of their nearest and dearest."

I grabbed Emmett's hand as the tears stung at the back of my eyes. "I love that picture of our folks."

Emmett's voice caught in his throat. "_I_ love the one where you stood and waved your hat in the air."

"Pshhh, as if there were ever a doubt. Here's me, catching the ring he duct-taped to a ball and threw up into the stands."

"That was one hell of a catch, babe."

"It wasn't a bad throw, for the best pitcher in the league."

Tom studied the last photo before turning around. "I'm confused. That accounts for the Celtic love knot ring you wear, Edward, but where did Emmett's checkerboard ring come from?"

"It's a chess board," we answered together.

"Aha! I noticed all the chessboards earlier. You two enjoy the game, I take it?"

Emmett frowned. "He enjoys beating me. I'm hoping in about twenty years, one of our kids will be able to put Edward in his place."

"No doubt," I answered. "So, Emmett's ring . . . I'd moved it from my running shorts to my cargo shorts, thinking if Emmett had a good night, maybe I'd propose after the game."

"It did turn out to be a pretty damn good night," Emmett said.

"It's always nice to start the season with an ERA of zero-point-zero."

"Mmhmm. While I was icing my arm and showering, Carlisle took Edward to the suite. I made a quick exit from the post-game conference—"

Jake interjected, "Yes, I believe you said we'd have to excuse you; you had a fiancé to maul."

Emmett nodded. "Sounds about right. By the time I got to the suite, there was a pretty decent party going on. I tried to be polite to everyone, but I was a little anxious to get Edward alone."

My cheeks heated up. "Enough said."

Emmett chuckled, and I know his mind had gone exactly where mine had—the bathroom of the luxury suite. In a frenzy of lips and hands and sweet words and urgent kisses, we'd crashed together and celebrated our engagement.

Taking my hand in his again, Emmett finished our story. "Edward starts rooting in his pocket for something, and I swear to God, I thought he had an emergency lube tucked away. I mean, even for the professor, that was pretty crazy! So imagine my surprise when he pulls out a ring . . . _this_ ring . . . and says, 'Funny thing . . .' We emerge from the bathroom, and I've got my World Series ring on my right hand and my engagement ring on the left."

"I probably should've planned that better, too," I admitted. "Nothing like trying to compete with a ring that has two hundred twelve diamonds and a dozen rubies."

"Don't forget the rare teal diamond in the mascot's eye," Emmett added helpfully.

"Right. Thanks."

"And the plain black bands you both wear?" Tom asked.

"Tungsten," Emmett said. "We exchanged them during our wedding ceremony so we'd have the same rings."

"Tungsten is very hard, but it's also malleable."

"Like my husband, here," Emmett said. "It's also incredibly dense, like me."

Tom smirked as he took notes. "Sounds like the perfect combination."

**#whatilove#**

_We'd decided on a "no-regrets" affair—invite everyone we were on the fence about so we wouldn't have regrets later. For Emmett, that meant all of his current and several of his past teammates, coaches, and of course, Trey. For me, a few buddies from MIT and Stanford I'd stayed in touch with through the years and the full faculty of Seven Hills. _

_The internet search for a rent-a-minister yielded "New Age interfaith minister, wedding celebrant, and Reiki healer" Roland Cummins. And apparently, we were now set for life because for only thirty bucks an hour, we could engage the reverend's services for funerals as well._

_The venue was obvious—the pitcher's mound at Safeco. Alice worked her magic with the facility maintenance staff to transform the infield into a romantic "field of dreams"—certainly surpassing even my own wildest dreams, which was saying quite a bit. The 2017 all-star break provided the perfect timing; not only were the groundskeepers at Safeco able to create pristine field conditions with their four-day window, but Emmett was fully occupied in Miami and safely out of my hair—and Alice's—until the day before the wedding. Not that he had any desire to make an actual decision, but Emmett had to have his finger in every pie, or wedding cake, as it were. The "just wondering" curiosity led Alice to dub him "Groom Kong," a title Emmett unfortunately regarded as a challenge. _

_Promising it would add "an air of mystique to the wedding," Alice convinced us not to see each other after Emmett flew home. High off his all-star performance and revved about the wedding—not to mention his standard post-road-trip horniness—Emmett was impossibly frisky, his sexting nearly convincing me to abandon the plan and meet him at the beach. If I hadn't been staying with my parents that night, I might've folded despite the certainty of Alice's scorn. _

_In the morning, I packed up my tux and my "Team Edward" uniform for the post-ceremony baseball game. Kind of cheesy, but we'd decided to split up the real ballplayers into what Emmett deemed "equal" teams—and assigned the rest of the guests randomly to either his team or mine._

_Emmett and I hadn't seen each other's tuxedos—per another of Alice's orders—and I was jumping out of my skin, both to see and be seen. It wasn't often I had the occasion to wear a tux, and I was eager for Emmett's reaction. Having stalked Emmett for years, I knew the magnificence of the man in a tux, and this occasion promised to be his coup de grace; I would surely be toast._

_While Emmett gussied up in the Mariners' locker room, I used the away locker room as home base. My best man, a.k.a. Dad, helped steady my nerves while Mom made sure all my cufflinks and studs were in the proper place. Jake buzzed in to take a few candids. He wouldn't give up any details about Emmett's tux other than to say, with a forbearing eye roll, that Tammy had swooned. _

_I could not have been prepared for the sight that greeted my eyes when I emerged from the locker room with one parent on each arm. The July mid-day sun blinded me for a second until Dad calmly reminded me I had sunglasses in my jacket pocket. I pulled on my Ray-bans, turned my head to the right, and drank in my first glimpse of my groom. To call him stunning would be a gross understatement, yet the word perfectly described how my heart stopped when I laid eyes on Emmett. _

_He was glorious in his starched white shirt and satin lapels, black studs disappearing into the vest under his jacket. His trousers hugged his legs at the thigh, classic Calvin Klein with a nod to sexy-as-fuck. Just above his bowtie was probably the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen, the perfect combo of I-know-I-look-hot and how'd-I-get-so-damn-lucky? I had a feeling Emmett's sunglasses were hiding a tear or two, as were mine._

_I enjoyed a private inner chuckle watching Matthew and Kate McCarty skip to keep up with their son. Ever the stallion champing at the bit, Emmett crossed the chalk line between home plate and first with a confidence I'd never possess. My pace was slower, as usual, a deliberate right-left-right-left that required all my concentration. This was no time to fall on my face._

_Just before delivering me into my fiancé's hands, Mom and Dad each gave me a kiss on the cheek while Emmett's did the same. Dad took his place at my side while Mom stepped back and grabbed hold of the elbow of her escort, Robinson Cano. Dad wasn't the only one who caught her fangirl moment; how could I poke fun at her? I was making the same face at my husband-to-be. _

_And that's when it really hit me. Holy hell! I am about to marry Emmett McCarty, literally the man of my dreams. _

_Emmett took my hand and gave it a squeeze. He leaned over and whispered into my ear. "You look so fucking hot, babe."_

_I tried to respond; I wanted to tell Emmett he looked amazing, too, but all that came out was a pathetic little squeak. _

_Emmett chuckled and moved in closer to my side. "You okay, Professor?"_

_The rent-a-reverend gave me a startled look. I was supposed to say something. I cleared my throat and nodded. I'd say what I needed to say when called upon, but I wasn't about to try for any extra credit. Emmett's best man, Dr. Jasper Whitlock, bent forward and offered a reassuring smile. I took a deep, cleansing breath._

_"Dearly beloved . . ." God bless Reverend Cummins. While he delivered his opening blessings for our union, I decompressed. By the time he called for us to recite our vows, I was human again. Knowing I'd be a mess after Emmett's vows, we'd agreed I would deliver my speech first. I'd memorized my vows, but Dad was holding the whole speech on an index card in his pocket in case I needed it._

_"Emmett Seamus McCarty, today, I give you my heart and my hand, along with various other body parts you've specifically expressed affection for."_

_Emmett interrupted with a loud burst of shocked laughter._

_"I promise to be your loving partner in marriage, your most loyal friend, and the best co-parent you could ever ask for. I promise to continually provide you challenges to expand your mind and nourishment to maintain your body in its current state of perfection."_

_Emmett slipped a finger under his sunglasses to wipe away a tear, and I nearly lost it. My voice quaked as I continued._

_"I will celebrate every triumph with you, large or small, and I will be there to fall back on when life throws you the occasional curveball. I promise to keep improving myself and give you space to take chances. Most of all—and easiest of all—I promise I will always view you through the starry eyes of your biggest fan ever."_

_"Aw, shit." Emmett tugged me into his chest and placed his lips over mine. _

_The soft sweep of his tongue wiped all intelligent thought out of my head. If not for the firm "Ahem!" of the good reverend, I would likely have let Emmett have his way with me right then and there. Emmett pulled back, but not without whispering, "You knocked that outta the park, baby."_

_Emmett gathered himself as if preparing to throw out the first pitch. I recognized the intensity in his eyes, even behind the Oakley's. He was fully engaged, one hundred percent present in this moment with me._

_"Professor Edward Masen Cullen, Ph.D., before I met you, I thought my life was just about as good as it could get; in fact, if you'll recall, it was nearly perfect that night."_

_One of his teammates—Seaver, as I confirmed later—yelled out, "Worst call ever!" to the crowd's delight._

_"Annnnnyway . . . I had no idea how much I was missing until you barged into my Twitter feed and rocked my world with your sweet, humble, smart, sexy vibe. Your confidence in me sometimes feels impossible to live up to but somehow always manages to lift me to a new height I never imagined I could reach."_

_The coach's soul in me melted like ice cream on hot asphalt. Emmett paused and waited for my lip to stop quivering before he continued._

_"I promise to respect and cherish your mind, spirit, and especially your body." He added a comical waggle of his eyebrows to lighten the mood. "I will attempt to always be worthy of your faith in me. Above all, I promise to stay out of your way in the kitchen."_

_Alice's "Here, here!" rose above the collective murmur of "Awww" from the guests. Emmett's mouth settled into a satisfied grin right before his lips met mine._

_"Um . . . excuse me." The reverend stepped forward and placed one hand on each of our shoulders. "We haven't come to that part yet."_

_Laughing as he pulled away, Emmett said, "Sorry, Coach."_

_"Will the bearer of the rings please step forward?"_

_Sawyer moved to his spot as rehearsed and presented the white, baseball-shaped pillow with the two tungsten bands held in place by a single bow the color of baseball stitching. Emmett untied the red thread and bent down to his nephew to deliver a "Good job, Champ." _

_"I'll go first this time," Emmett told Reverend Cummins, even though that wasn't how we'd rehearsed it. Emmett would tell me later he couldn't wait another moment to "take my fine ass off the market." Sliding the band onto my ring finger to sit just above the Celtic knot ring, Emmett repeated the line after the minister: "I give you this ring as a visible and constant symbol of my promise to be with you as long as I live."_

_I repeated the vow and the action, fighting a battle with the voice inside me that kept reminding me of the insanity of this ceremony, this day, this whole mad idea that Emmett McCarty was wearing my wedding ring, and I was wearing his._

_"And _now—"

_I only know that Reverend Cummins finished his sentence with, "I pronounce you husband and husband, and you may kiss" because I've watched the video, oh, three hundred times. In that moment, I was aware only that my husband, Emmett "Big Mac" McCarty, was giving me the most extraordinary kiss of my lifetime._

**#whatilove#**

Red-haired, freckle-faced Bridget toddled down the hallway toward her Papa's voice with an eagerness I still felt every damn time Emmett and I were separated, whether by miles or plaster walls, for days or minutes. My world revolved around this man and these two children in a profound way I never would've imagined possible. Slower to warm, Mac hung back cautiously, and I held his hand until he was ready to break free.

I'm not sure there would ever be a more satisfying sight than Emmett bending down to scoop our daughter up in his arms, the joy on both of their faces as radiant as the stadium lights.

"Hahaha, here's my girl!"

Bridget loosed a happy stream of giggles as Emmett twirled her around and kissed her face. My heart lifted and flipped as if I were the one being spun in his arms. "Bridgy, say hi to Mr. V."

"Hi."

Tom smiled and waved back. "Hi."

"Bridget Katherine Cullen-McCarty, for the record." Emmett set Bridget's feet on the floor and reached for our son. "Hey there, big guy. Come to Papa?"

Mac gave Tom a wary look before running to Emmett. "And this would be Liam Brayden Cullen-McCarty, but his friends call him 'Mac.'"

I dragged out some of the kids' favorite toys—blocks, puzzles, cars, and trucks—and sat down with them on the floor.

Jake squatted off to the side. "I know we said no photos of the kids for the story, but why don't I take some pictures for you guys while I'm here? I haven't seen these two in a couple months. I can't believe how much they've grown."

"Sure, thanks, Jake," I answered.

Tom watched quietly while the kids played side by side. I recognized the critical expression on his face; he was tallying their features and playing the attribution game. Mac had Emmett's blond hair and dimples, bless him, coupled with my rectangular chin and bushy eyebrows. He had more of my personality—thoughtful, cautious, and calm. He was slower to warm, but when he did, Mac wouldn't leave your side.

Bridget shared her Papa's button nose and long eyelashes, along with his booming laugh and lack of inhibition. Our daughter had also come equipped with a razor-sharp mind she could've inherited from either of us and fine motor skills well above average for her age. Her coloring came from my side of the family though my mother swears I never had hair as orange as Bridget's.

"Would you two feel comfortable talking about how these babies came into being?"

Without cracking a smile, Emmett responded. "Didn't anyone ever tell you about the birds and the bees, Tom?"

"I'm aware of the old-fashioned technique, thank you."

"Just checking." The two of us had discussed this topic before Tom's arrival, so Emmett knew I was on board. "Edward and I are happy to share if it might help another gay couple navigate the waters. As you're probably aware, about ten years ago, scientists at the University of Cambridge and the Weizmann Institute joined forces to produce human egg and sperm cells using stem cells from two males. We've been the fortunate benefactors of that happy discovery."

"So it's true that both of you are the biological parents to each child?"

"Exactly. After the embryos were deemed viable, all we had to do was find a surrogate." Emmett gave me a sly smirk; I knew where this was heading. "You should probably ask the professor how he chose our surrogate."

Pen poised, Tom turned his attention to me.

I owned it. "I set up a Pugh matrix to capture all the quantifiable data: IQ, family health history, age, ethnic background. Emmett helped me evaluate the "intangibles"—interests, hobbies, temperament, lifestyle choices—and we factored in ratings for each category. After we had all the data, I weighted each of the criteria and arrived at the unique solution to the problem."

Tom had stopped writing about halfway through my description. "Are you putting me on?"

Emmett laughed and shook his head. "He's not."

"I believe the results speak for themselves," I said.

Emmett nudged Bridget with his sock-covered foot. "They sure do, baby. Our kids are sheer perfection."

"Okay," Tom said, filling in some notes. "I know eighteen months is a bit early to tell, but have you seen any glimmers of athletic prowess yet?"

"Mac throws his sippy cup halfway across the kitchen when he's mad," I offered.

"And Bridget can kick the crud out of a soccer ball," Emmett added proudly.

"So, if you had your druthers, would your children follow in your footsteps and go pro?"

"Sure," Emmett answered, "if that's what they want. We just want them both to stay true to who they are and pursue what makes them happy."

Jake chuckled from behind the camera. "Right now, that looks like dumping things out of their containers."

"Well, they know how much their daddy enjoys sorting everything out at the end of the day, don't they, Daddy?"

"I admit, I do find it satisfying to create order out of chaos."

Emmett stage-whispered to Tom. "He has a bit of a God complex going."

I helped Mac fit a piece into the wooden puzzle frame. "Ha! If I were God, I'd be able to get _you_ to clean up at the end of the day!"

"Hey, I put all my dirty clothes in the laundry hamper."

I gave Tom a see-what-I-have-to-deal-with headshake. "Our goals for the twins are a wee bit higher than putting their smelly socks in the hamper. We want them to be the power for positive change in the world. That's why we brought them to the NoH8 shoot with us back in February." I tipped my chin toward the familiar photo of the four of us, hanging over the mantel. Emmett and I had duct tape across our mouths, but the twins just had the logo drawn on their little cheeks. Emmett and I had had a long, thoughtful discussion before releasing the photo, but in the end, we decided there was no better cause than equality for their first public appearance.

Emmett's gaze found me before he added his two cents. "I wouldn't be disappointed if we had another math teacher or a chess master in the family."

Jake chimed in. "How about another underwear model?"

The blood drained from Emmett's face. "Please tell me you're talking about Mac!"

I was thinking the same thing, but that didn't mean I'd let Emmett off the hook. "You're sounding a wee bit sexist there, Papa."

Emmett didn't take the bait. "Sue me."

Bridget chose that moment to reach for a puzzle piece her brother had just fit into place and threw it across the floor. With typical outrage at the unfairness of it all, Mac squawked and stole one of the trucks she'd been enjoying. I shot Emmett a look he understood immediately. _We're on borrowed time here._

Tom was no dummy. "I'm guessing our interview time is just about over. I want to ask you a few questions about your future if I may."

"Shoot." Emmett sat back on the couch, leaving me to manage the kids.

"Okay. Are you sad about leaving baseball?"

Emmett lifted his hand to his right shoulder, a motion I'd seen a thousand times, a reflexive habit he'd formed over years of dealing with aches and pains. Only the coaching staff and Emmett's doctors appreciated the extent of his muscle and nerve damage and the pain he lived with on a daily basis. He rarely complained except when it interfered with his ability to do something with the kids.

"I'll be sad not to be part of the team. I'll miss seeing the guys every day at practice, and I'll miss the thrill of the win. I'm sure my body's gonna go to pot without Trey to whip me into shape and work out the kinks."

"Wait, what? No more Trey? Babe, maybe you should reconsider this retirement thing!"

"I suppose I could see if he'll make house calls. Have I mentioned that my husband has a little crush on my trainer?"

I shrugged. "Everyone needs a backup plan."

Emmett snorted and aimed his reply at Tom. "You see why I can't leave this one home alone, right? Will I miss the road, being away from my husband and my kids? No, I can't say I will. Aside from that, I don't want to become one of those sad old geezers who didn't know when to let go. When they retire my number, I want only positive thoughts associated with sixty-nine."

I shouldn't have cracked up, but sometimes, you can't take the little boy out of the man.

Emmett smirked. "Really, Professor? In front of the children?" He shook his head with mock disdain.

Tom pretended to ignore our banter, but he had a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "So, what's next for you, Mac?"

Emmett glanced over at me. "I haven't told Edward this yet, but I got a call yesterday from Kraft. They want me to be the face of macaroni and cheese."

I laughed again, and Little Mac joined in, his giggle throaty and deep. "What exactly does a macaroni and cheese face look like, aside from being bright orange?"

"I have no idea, but I figured it would be a nice change from doing Big Mac ads, especially since we actually do feed the kids macaroni and cheese."

"As long as you have time to coach the Lumpsuckers . . ."

"Right. I have committed to being the lead baseball coach at Seven Hills, starting next spring. Also, I plan to take a more active role in my foundation. As I'm sure you know, we provide scholarships for gay athletes with outstanding academic records. I'd like to be much more involved with the selection process and maybe even do a bit of mentoring."

My heart ballooned in my chest. I'd married a superstar in the sweet spot of his career, but Emmett McCarty was so much more than that. His hair was bound to grey and thin, and maybe his abs would lose a smidgen of their lickability, but his dimples would deepen along with the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. Maybe he'd jump a bit slower out of the blocks as he gained maturity and wisdom. He'd mellow like the sterling finish of our silver service, taking on a rich, elegant luster in place of the brassy veneer of youth. I was in no rush for either of us to age, but I wasn't scared of it either.

". . . And of course, Edward has his summers off, so we'll travel, show these little tykes the world."

Tom turned to me. "And what about you, Edward? What are your plans for the next thirty years?"

"Thirty years, huh? That's a lot of time. Lemme see . . . I still need to master juggling flaming swords, so there's that."

Emmett guffawed. "He thinks you're kidding."

I looked directly at Tom. "Yeah, I _was_ kidding. But seriously, I have a lot to accomplish academically. Over the next decade, I'd like to roll out some of the math programs we've piloted at Seven Hills and see if we can get some national traction, especially in districts where the kids are underserved. For now, I'm pretty content to get down on the floor and play with these two. When the time comes, I look forward to helping them with their homework and sitting around the dinner table talking about everyone's day. My dreams are pretty simple, I guess."

Emmett gave me a mushy smile. "Does that mean you're finally going to stop pinching yourself?"

"I think I better. If I wake up now, I'm going to be extremely pissed."

Despite the audience, the kids, and the toys strewn all over the floor, Emmett slid off the couch and crawled over to where I was sitting. "Hey! How do you think _I'm_ gonna feel? I'll have to climb back into the closet after all these fabulous years!"

Emmett kissed me as hot and hard and sweet and tender as he had that first day he admitted his feelings for me. The flood of emotions rushed back: my utter disbelief, Emmett's terrifying admission, my unrestrained hope, the passion, the heat, the kiss that changed everything, the giddiness of lying together afterwards, imagining a life of being loved and wanted by Emmett McCarty.

A perfect life I never could have conjured, even in my wildest dreams.

* * *

**Author's Note:** **#whatiloveaboutwritingfanfiction: ****YOU GUYS! The support, the love for the characters, the feedback, the questions, the guesses, the fabulous insights that ignite sparks in my brain and get me fired up! Your laughter and smiles, your tears and occasionally, your ire. Your begging (you know who you are!). Your hilarious outbursts, your deeply serious responses. So, here's to all of you for being fans of this story...and to you brave, perverted souls who've read every word I've ever written, there's a special place in my pumpkin shell for you!**

Though the serious timing and weird retrofitting flaws in this story are all mine (YAY!), I cannot write enough fabulous words about my team. Like Emmett, I couldn't possibly do this by myself. In every chapter, I can point to details large and small that would've been either wrong or just not as rich or well-worded without the cracker jack eyes and hearts of my fabulous staff of prereaders: Jayme, my umpire extraordinaire, making the calls when I've broken the rules or used the wrong lingo; Shadow, catching some really embarrassing booboos and bringing in a fresh look at emotions and dialogue; Ladyeire, shaking her pompoms and batting around plot lines and character traits like nobody else (and making the legit banner for both stories!); Shell, inspiring this story in the first place with her own "Sawyer" tee-ball stories, then scrubbing each chapter as only she can do (and incidentally, figured out where the story ended-THANK YOU!). Last and never least, my sweet, wonderful Chayasara, who touches my words and my heart with a loving but firm (mostly my words) hand and makes sure I always put forth my best.

I also want to thank each of you who has recommended this story, whether you're a big blogger (SMOOCHES FicsistersIHOFF and Rita!) or someone who retweets my posts or simply tells a friend to try it, I appreciate every one of you. I never know what kind of audience to expect with a slash story, and I believe this story has garnered my largest m/m audience. Thank you all for sticking with the boys even if that wasn't your thing at first. Your trust in me warms me like hot cocoa on a winter's day! If you're looking for more of my boys, most of them are here, but probably my best piece, "Remastering Marcus" is on my blog (too dirtay for fanfic!) so please let me know if you venture out! Thank you all for reading and commenting, even if it was just once, to let me know you're here. You might now know how much those words mean to me. Sigh...I guess it's time to let go now. Take good care of my boys?

Oh...what's next? I'm working on a continuation of my one-shot, "Bag Boy" (first chapter posted here). Follow me or the story to stay on top of updates. SMOOCHES!  
**XXX ~BOH**


End file.
